The Sockchester Brothers' Supernatural
by White-Bat-Wing
Summary: A sock puppet version of Supernatural
1. Episode 1: Kenmore, WA

The Sockchester Brothers' Supernatural

Sock Puppet Theater

By White Bat

Episode 1

Kenmore, Washington

The Cardboard Impala ™ slowly pulls up to the edge of a lake. Plastic fronds hang over the sides of the lake, making dark shadows near the shoreline despite the pristine day. The lake is shaped oddly like the inside of a washing machine drum. A shallow island marks a central spot in the lake.

Sock Dean steps out: So there it is, Lake Washington. Doesn't look like there's a monster hiding in there.

Sock Sam leans his head out of the window: Does it ever? Okay, so get this, in the last twenty years over thirty people have gone missing here in Kenmore, Washington. Interesting fact, they all were one half of a set. Spouses, twins, close siblings. The spouse or sibling filed the missing persons report.

Sock Dean: Wait. Siblings? Like us?

Sock Sam gives Sock Dean a look: You're not going to lose me, Dean.

Sock Dean clears his throat: Yeah, well, who's the most recent victim?

Sock Sam: Benedict Fish. His wife Annette filed the report two days ago.

Sock Dean: Alright, let's head over there now and comfort the poor widow.

Sock Sam: First, let's change duds.

Sock Sam and Sock Dean pop open the cardboard trunk and pull out black suit jackets to put on. They close the trunk and hop back in to the car.

Sock Sam and Sock Dean arrive at a red brick two-story. Window boxes filled with wildflowers bloom under each pane. A white picket fence goes around the whole yard. Sock Sam and Dean straighten their ties and knock at the door.

Sock Dean: FBI. Agents May and Taylor. Are you Annette Fish?

Sock Woman: Oh! Yes, but call me Nettie, please.

Nettie Fish shakes out her yarn hair, and runs her hand down her fishnet stockings.

Sock Dean gives Nettie a long appreciative look and turns on his charm: Of course.

Sock Sam clears his throat: Nettie, we're looking into the disappearance of your husband, Benedict. Can you tell us the last time you saw him?

Nettie Fish: Oh! Poor Ned! We were just going to the lake to fish that morning! I laid out on the shore to get some sun.

Sock Dean: I can imagine you did.

Sock Sam nudges Sock Dean to shut up.

Nettie Fish lifts a hand to her brow: But then my Ned was gone! It's almost like he just walked into the lake.

Sock Sam: Did he seem different in the days before? Did his eyes look strange or did you smell anything odd around the lake or in your home?

Nettie Fish: No. No. I just can't understand why he would leave me like that!

Sock Dean: I can't understand it either, but here's my card. That's the number you can call if you need any -_any _help at all.

Sock Sam clears his throat again: Agent May. We should go.

Sock Sam and Sock Dean walk back to The Cardboard Impala ™.

Sock Dean tapps his hands on the roof of the car: So what do you think? Nessie got hungry?

Sock Sam: I think we need to check the lore on Lake Washington, then we'll head back to the lake.

Kenmore County Library. Sock Sam and Sock Dean are surrounded by bookcases. Sock Sam is pouring over a desk full of books while Sock Dean is playing Jenga with a stack of them.

Sock Dean: This place stinks.

Sock Sam: Well, they didn't have a lot to offer as far as local legends, but I think we'll make do.

Sock Dean: No, I mean it smells, like mold and mildew, dead rats, and lizards.

Sock Sam: Dean, The bunker smells like that all the time.

Sock Dean: Nope, there's something wrong with this library. I need to get out of here.

Sock Sam shakes his head: Fine, just go. We're at the High Tide motel, right?

Sock Dean: Room 120.

Sock Sam: Okay. Got it.

Sock Dean grabs The Cardboard Impala's ™ keys and slides out of the library.

Sock Sam reaches for a book from Dean's pile and knocks the whole Jenga tower down. Sock Sam groans.

Tapping Feet Bar is squeezed in between a shoe shine shop and a hardware store on the main road through downtown Kenmore. Inside, Sock Dean drinks out of a shotglass at the wooden bar and flirts with the female bartender. A few patrons nurse their own drinks or chat over round tables.

Sock Dean: So have you heard about all the disappearances at the lake lately?

Bartender: Well, people go missing all the time. My ex left me months ago, but I didn't look for him. He either ran out to find another girl or drowned himself. I couldn't care less.

Sock Dean: I don't know why he'd leave a girl like you. Green is your color. Your eyes, your dress.

Bartender: Oh you like this dress? I had to change it a dozen times. You wouldn't believe what condition it was before. Lace ruffles and poofy sleeves!

Sock Dean: You pour drinks and alter clothes? When do you have time to sleep?

Bartender: Oh, I make time...

She winks her button eye at Sock Dean as she fills up his shot glass.

Bartender: ... And I have an apprenticeship at a dressmaker studio when I'm not here.

The Bartender goes on to other customers. Dean continues to gaze at his drink and work over the case in his mind.

Nettie Fish: Agent May! I'm...surprised to see you here.

Sock Dean turns to see Nettie all dolled up in a revealing dress and fishnet stockings. The tip of her tongue touches her upper lip as she looks at the bottles behind the bar.

Sock Dean smiles easily: I'm off duty now, Ms. Fish.

Nettie Fish: Ah, ah, ah!

Sock Dean gives her another long look and turns toward her from the bar.

Sock Dean: Nettie. Here, have a drink on me.

Sock Dean gestures to the bartender, who passes him another drink for Nettie.

Nettie Fish drinks it in one shot: Thanks. I usually don't drink like this.

Sock Dean blinks and gestures to the bartender again: I doubt it's usual that your husband goes missing.

Nettie Fish sighs: Well, Neddy would go out on fishing trips with his buddies, sometimes for weeks on end. Up and down the coast, even to Alaska a few times. I'm a very patient woman.

Sock Dean nodded: He didn't know what he had.

Nettie Fish finishes a third drink: I just keep thinking, I need to back out there to the Lake. I'm sure he'll be there if I just keep waiting for him.

Sock Dean: Well, maybe, but I think you'd better get back home safely first. You're moving pretty fast.

Sock Dean notices her wobbling as she stands up.

Nettie Fish takes the shotglass out of Sock Dean's hands and drinks it: No! I'm going to stand on that shore and wait until he comes back. He has to come back!

Sock Dean waves the bartender on and tosses down his cash while trying to carry a stumbling Nettie out the door.

Nettie Fish: Oh Agent May, You'll find him, right?

Sock Dean: Yup. We'll find him. Let me take you home.

Nettie Fish: NO! Take me to the lake. I need to wait for him.

Sock Dean drives The Cardboard Impala ™ towards the Fish's home, but Nettie opens up the passenger car door and hurls red lint out the side. Sock Dean immediately pulls the car off the highway and to a stop . Lake Washington gleams just beyond a few trees.

Nettie staggers out of the car and starts stumbling to the lake: Neddy! I'm here! Come back!

Sock Dean chases after Nettie, but she's already in the water, which has started to churn and swirl. Sudsy froth starts coating the edges of Lake Washington.

Sock Dean: Hey! Hey! Don't!

The current becomes too strong for either one of them, and both are swept away into the depths of the lake.

The Cardboard Impala ™ sits silently on the side of the street. Passenger door still ajar. Its headlights peer at the trees surrounding the lake.

Sam wakes up to find out that he fell asleep on the books in the library. He rubs his face and runs a hand through his hair before he calls Dean's cell, which goes directly to voicemail.

Sock Sam: Hey Dean, so according to the lore, I think it's a water wraith. They're essentially spirits that roam over different bodies of water. They usually are women dressed in green, but other than that, they're mostly like other wraiths we've dealt with. Silver to the heart, mirrors show their true appearance, and a love for luring people to drown followed by a wrist spike to get out the brain fluid. Call me when you can.

Sock Sam asks around the town but no one can tell him where Dean went.

On his way out of town Sock Sam finally sees The Cardboard Impala ™ near the edge of the water.

Sock Sam runs around the car: Dean! Dean!

With no other choices, Sock Sam hooks his gun to his belt, and dives into the water. It remains calm for the time being.

Soaked Sock Sam swims to the island in the center of the lake. He sees a few trees, but when he gets closer he finds a small thatched hut.

Soaked Sock Sam chambers a round of his silver bullets and kicks in the door of the hut.

The bartender turns from her prey, a straw retracts into her wrist.

Bartender: Hunters! I should have known why he was hanging around Nettie.

Soaked Sock Sam: Where's Dean?

Bartender Water Wraith: Not dead yet. I wanted to have some fun with him before…

Soaked Sock Sam shoots two silver bullets into the water wraith's chest.

The Water Wraith falls to the floor, dead.

Soaked Sock Sam hurries to the woman the wraith was feeding from: Annette! Ms. Fish! Nettie! Ms. Fish! Nettie!

He sees that she's dead, so he looks around the hut. There is little to see except food and the bed, where Annette lay dead. Dean is nowhere to be found.

Soaked Sock Sam steps out of the hut: Dean! Where are you? Where would she keep him? Dean!

Soaked Sock Sam dives into the lake again. He notices that the island keeps going down to the bottom rim on the floor of the lake. He swims around the bottom rim and thinks he might see the flannel shirt of Sock Dean. He grabs a hold under the rim and yanks with all his might.

Soaked Sock Dean finally comes free and both kick to the surface.

Soaked Sock Dean and Soaked Sock Sam make it ashore and lay on their backs catching their breath. The Cardboard Impala ™ is a few feet behind them, still patiently waiting for their return.

Soaked Sock Sam: Water...wraith

Soaked Sock Dean: Yeah...got that...when...she started...drowning me.

Soaked Sock Sam: Nettie...didn't make it.

Soaked Sock Dean stands up and curses: We need...a win. I'm sick of losing socks!

Soaked Sock Sam: This...was a win. There's lots of people who won't become the water wraith's victim now.

Soaked Sock Dean walks back to the car: Well, it sure doesn't feel like it.

Soaked Sock Dean shook his head: Holy crap, that thing was crazy. It stuffed me in that crevice, where there was the tiniest oxygen leak. My lungs were literally on fire.

Soaked Sock Sam: Let's get back to the motel. I'm sure it'll feel better to get on a dry set of clothes and get back home.

They shake off as best as they can and hop in to the car. The Cardboard Impala ™ drives out of sight to the sun rising over the lake or perhaps a particularly bright light bulb.

Fade to black.

Soaked Sock Dean: Ugh! You smell like foot!

Soaked Sock Sam: So do you!


	2. Episode 2: Hinnom, VA

The Sockchester Brothers' Supernatural  
Episode 2  
Hinnom, Virginia  
Sock Woman sits up, rubs her very pregnant stomach and yawns.  
She looks around at the room which looks like the inside of a dresser.  
Sock Woman: Honey?  
Sock Man sleeping beside her turns over: Hmm?  
Sock Woman: Can you get me some water?  
Sock Man climbs out of bed.  
Sock Woman settles back into the bed.  
Sock Man returns with a shotglass of water.  
Sock Woman sits up and reaches for it: Thank-  
She pauses as she peers at him  
Sock Woman: Wait. Honey? Are you? Are you inside-out?  
She whispers this last terrible atrocity.  
Sock Man: What's wrong?  
Sock Woman recoils into her bed, her bedsheets pulled up tight to her chest: That's not your voice! Why don't you have a gold toe? Who are you?  
Sock Man rushes forward and covers her mouth: Shh! Shh! This'll be over quick!  
The Sock Man slashes a knife low on the Sock Woman's belly and red fuzz starts crumbling out.  
Sock Woman screams.  
Title Slide: The Sockchester Bros: Supernatural  
The Cardboard Impala ™ is winding through some farm fields and past a few scruffy Gas and Sips that look like they're mostly held together by cardboard and duct tape. Finally the car pulls up at a small diner and Sock Sam and Sock Dean get out, slamming their cardboard doors shut. A few missing persons flyers taped to the front window flutter in the wind.  
Sock Sam: She wasn't that into you, Dean.  
Sock Dean: Oh yes she was. Why else did she come to that bar dressed in those fishnets and short skirt and long...long legs. Mmm!  
Sock Sam shakes his head: Whatever helps you sleep at night.  
Sock Sam and Sock Dean step inside a diner which looks similarly run down, patched together with duct tape and cardboard. Other patrons include an elderly couple holding hands across a table, a set of teenagers share some cheese fries, and three women sit with laptops on the table before them.  
Sock Dean: Her and some Busty Beauts.  
They are seated at a booth and Sock Dean glances around: So. Hinnom, Virginia.  
Sock Sam: Yeah, the local authorities are kind of stumped by this case. So the husband tears a hole into his wife's stomach and pulls out their unborn baby. She died of massive blood loss. The baby and the father are missing. The cops are looking in dumpsters and wooded areas, but it's like they completely disappeared.  
Sock Dean looks up to see the Sock Waiter with a pad and pen.  
Sock Dean: Oh, uh, cheeseburger and fries for me with extra onions, followed by blueberry pie.  
Sock Sam: I'll just take a chicken sandwich. Thanks.  
The Sock Waiter moves on to take the order to the kitchen.  
Sock Dean: Okay, are you sure this is our kind of thing? I mean, married people can go crazy on each other. It happens all the time.  
Sock Sam: But pulling out your kid from your wife?  
Sock Dean: Maybe he was just really ready to be a dad? Don't women get all anxious and crazy near the end of their pregnancy? All 'I just really want the baby out?'  
Sock Sam: Where have you heard…?  
Sock Dean: Shut up.  
Sock Sam gives Dean a look.  
Sock Dean: Daytime TV. What? I get bored when you're busy reading dusty books. Anyway, so you're thinking…?  
Sock Sam: I don't know, it could be anything Werewolves, Shifters, Witches…  
Sock Castiel: Demon.  
Sock Sam and Sock Dean both start at Cass sitting beside Dean near the window in the booth, his face is turned to look outside.  
Sock Dean: Cass! Where have you been?  
Sock Cass looks at Sam and Dean lowers his voice: The angels are talking. They don't like this town. There's something very evil here. It makes even us shudder.  
Sock Sam: You said a demon?  
Sock Cass shook his head: Probably. Maybe an original.  
Sock Dean: An original? What is that? Is that like Leviathans? You know, it really sounds like a TV show.  
Sock Cass shook his head: Demons didn't start with Lucifer, Dean. Lucifer is just one of the original demons. Over a third of the angels fell and joined him when he disobeyed God.  
Sock Sam: Wait. They're angels?  
The Sock Waiter returns with the guys' meals and notices Cass: Oh, can I get something for you?  
Sock Cass keeps staring across at Sock Sam: Water.  
The Sock Waiter moves on.  
Sock Cass looks intently at Sock Sam and Dean: They -were- angels. Now they are... vile. Incredibly strong. If there's one here…  
Sock Cass clears his throat and tries to change the subject: Did you hear about the case in Tennessee? People there are turning blue.  
Sock Sam eats his chicken sandwich: Cass, we're not going to just leave this job. Besides, we've killed lots of angels and demons before. Angel blades should work, right?  
Sock Cass looks out the window again: Maybe.  
Sock Dean: Maybe? That's all you've got? Maybe?  
Sock Cass looks exasperated at the Sockchesters: I fought in the wars in Heaven for years. I've seen countless wounds from angel blades and swords, but Lucifer and the originals tapped the human souls they use as vessels. Lucifer as an archangel was invincible, we couldn't even wear a hole in his heel with our blades. But the originals were unstoppable. Over forty of my brothers and sisters fell to slay just one of them.  
Sock Dean: Great, overpowered angels gone bad. What does this have to do with our dead woman and her missing fruit of the womb.  
Sock Sam kicks Sock Dean: The victim's name is Victoria Gold. Her husband, Tony, has been missing since he took the baby from out of her.  
Sock Cass glanced at the other patrons in the diner: Original demons have a voracious appetite for children. This one has been seeding lust throughout this town for months now.  
Sock Dean: What? How do you know?  
Sock Cass leveled his gaze at Dean: Every woman in this building is pregnant.  
Sock Sam and Dean stare at Sock Cass. Food entirely forgotten.  
Sock Waiter: Here's your water. Is there anything else I can get for you?  
Sock Sam and Dean slowly shake their heads. The Sock Waiter walks off.  
Sock Dean: How?  
Sock Sam: You mean everyone here is making babies for this original demon to eat? Even Granny Nester over there?  
Sock Cass: Yes, Sam, she's two weeks along. Dean, women become pregnant through interco-  
Sock Dean gestures with a fry at Cass: -Yeah! Yeah! I know. But how do you know they all have buns in the oven?  
Sock Cass: I don't detect any pastries within this establishment's oven.  
Sock Dean: No. How do you know the women here are all pregnant?  
Sock Cass: Oh. They smell different. Like creation. Their fibers smell like anticipation. Like lamb's wool about to be shorn, carded and spun into something new.  
Sock Sam: Did you spend some time at a sheep farm or something?  
Sock Cass: I spend a lot of time among sheep.  
Sock Dean finishes a bite and puts in: No kidding.  
Sock Cass: It just isn't a good idea to be here. The longer you stay in Hinnom, the more you'll be caught under this evil's influence.  
Sock Dean set down his burger: Lust? I won't have a problem with that.  
Sock Sam chokes on part of his sandwich.  
Sock Cass: Your self-control is commendable, Dean, but even the strongest sheep can be led to the edge of a cliff and made to jump off.  
Sock Dean: Again with the sheep!  
Sock Sam: I guess that means we better find and gank this demon fast. Dean and I will go check out the house. Can you see if there's anything else that can kill this original demon?  
Sock Cass: I'll ask my brothers if they remember and if any will help. But Sam, Dean, don't expect a miracle. Above all, be careful. This enemy will knock your socks off, pull off your eyes, and tear you to pieces.  
Sock Cass disappears and Sock Sam and Sock Dean blink their button eyes.  
Sock Waiter: And here's your pie. Oh. Hey. Where'd your friend go?  
Sock Dean: Probably halfway through Nevada. YOLO. Yeah?  
Sock Waiter: Sure. I guess?  
A modest two story house sits in a quaint, out of the way section of residential homes and rentals, right off the main street. The paint job is over fifteen years out of date, and crime scene tape covers the door.  
Sock Dean keeps a lookout while Sock Sam produces a tiny safety pin. He pops the lock and cuts the tape to let themselves into the house.  
Sock Sam and Dean creep into the house and clear each room with their EMF sensors.  
They end in the bedroom where a pile of red fuzz still sits on the floor. A shotglass sits tipped over on the carpet nearby.  
Sock Sam: So no ghosts. But I don't see or smell any sulphur here either.  
Sock Dean: So maybe it's not the original demon who did this.  
Sock Sam: Well, they're different. Cass said they were once angels and angels don't leave anything behind.  
Sock Dean: Thank God. I don't need angel glitter crap on my sleeve everytime we see Cass.  
Sock Sam chuckles and moves into the bathroom.  
Sock Sam: Dean. Take a look at this.  
Sock Dean: What? Hex bags?  
Sock Dean follows Sock Sam into the bathroom.  
Sock Sam: No.  
Sock Sam nudges the trash basket over and a goopy sock falls out.  
Sock Sam: It was a shifter.  
The Cardboard Impala ™ turns into a motel parking lot and Sock Sam and Sock Dean get out.  
Sock Dean: So what is this? Shifters and Demons are playing nice together?  
They move into their motel room. It also looks like a less homey version of the inside of a dresser.  
Sock Sam: Well, think about it, Dean. Their alpha is dead. The shifters are looking for another power to protect them.  
Sock Sam pulls his laptop from his bag and sits at the desk. In moments he's got something.  
Sock Sam: Check it out. The birthrate in this city has plummeted over the past year.  
Sock Dean: Maybe they discovered birth control tabs or rubber socks?  
Sock Sam: ...and ten children are missing. In an unincorporated town. That's unheard of. You don't even want to know the infant mortality rate.  
Sock Dean: Okay, so they're making baby stew for this original demon and the shifters are what? The enforcers?  
Sock Sam: I'm not even sure if the people of Hinnom know they're being used as breeding sock, er stock. You saw those missing person flyers. A shifter could take the form of the father and walk out with the baby.  
Sock Dean: So why did this one go for a premature baby?  
Sock Sam: It got hungry?  
Sock Dean: Okay. You start sorting out the web and find what will kill this thing. I've got to check out the local wildlife.  
Sock Sam sighed: They're all going to be looking to sock hop. Half of them are probably already pregnant.  
Sock Dean: Exactly.  
Later.  
Sock Sam holds a phone to his ear: Yeah, Bobby, he went out. I've already pinged his GPS, he's still at the bar. I'll make sure he gets back here tonight. Did you look into these original demons?  
Sock Bobby: Well, pull your socks up. There's lore from the book of Revelations. It speaks about a dragon, which is commonly thought of as the devil.  
Sock Sam: Lucifer.  
Sock Bobby: Yep, and his tail knocks a third of the stars out of the sky down to earth.  
Sock Sam: Angels. Like Cass said. So how do we kill them?  
Sock Bobby: I'd imagine an angel blade, but if they're super-charged like Castiel says… it might take more than what you boys have.  
Sock Sam: Well, we're fresh out of archangel blades or wielders, and the Colt is missing. We could try Ruby's knife, it kills normal demons.  
Sock Bobby: Listen, you boys be careful out there. This ain't something you wanna trifle with. One last thing, there are mentions throughout the new testament about using Jesus' name to drive them out of the vessel they're possessing. It's old. First century stuff.  
Sock Sam: But Christo rarely worked when we used it.  
Sock Bobby: Do you have fuzz in your ears? These are a whole different kind of demon. One has stripes, and the other spots. One's polyester, the other is real silk. One's tumble dry the other's line dry only. Besides, Christo is just the latin title for him. Like king, lord, or master.  
Sock Sam: Okay. I got it. Thanks, Bobby. I've got to run, Dean's hoofing it and he's not heading this way.  
Sock Sam hangs up the phone and grabs his jacket. He heads out and starts jogging down the darkened street.  
A scuffle sounds behind him and he turns. Nothing.  
Sock Sam looks around. Still nothing.  
Sock Sam takes another step and gets dogpiled by three Sock Women.  
They are the women from the diner who were having a working lunch.  
Sock Woman 1: I looked and found you! My true love!  
Sock Woman 2: Have you slept on Egyptian silk? Come to my house and see.  
Sock Woman 3: Come! Let's drink some and play footsie until the sun rises.  
Sock Sam attempts to stand, but the Sock women are all over him.  
Sock Dean: Sam?!  
Sock Sam: Dean! Ugh!  
Sock Woman 2: Look! Another man!  
Sock Woman 2 and 3 streak towards Dean.  
Sock Dean lifts his arms to welcome a Sock Woman on either side of him: Well, hello. I wondered where you all went off to.  
Sock Sam manages to partially knock Sock Woman 1 off.  
A cloud of dust blinds Sock Sam and Sock Dean from a gust of wind or possibly a strong fan.  
Sock Woman 2 and 3 shriek and fall to the ground in front of Dean.  
When Sock Dean and Sock Sam raise their arms to hide their eyes from the wind, but to see a dark sock. It's nylon wings stretch out behind him. Small clumps of bloody hair decorate the wings at the lower tips, as if they are tied on to the edges of his feathers. Blood drips from each tip of his wings and an oily, acrid, burnt smell accompanies him.  
The Sock Demon speaks: Sockchesters. A pleasure to be bumping toes with you.  
Sock Dean levels his gun at the demon: Yeah, no one's going to be touching our toes tonight, Toasty.  
The Sock Demon tucks his wings away, but blood still pools on either side of him: The name's Adrammelech. And you are the famous Dean. The Michaelsword. How did your little rebellion work out for you anyway? Daddy seemed okay with your disobedience and not mine? That hardly seems fair.  
Sock Sam pushes Sock Woman 1 away finally. She was clinging to him like static at the presence of Adrammelech.  
Sock Sam: What are you doing here anyway?  
Adrammelech: Ah! Sammy! Samuel, Samson. The favored son. You make my toes curl just breathing the same air as you. But it might just be all that well-conditioned hair. No. I think it's that faint smell of sulphur and my brother's blood in you.  
Sock Sam raised Ruby's knife: Who? Azazel?  
Adrammelech laughed like a low-pitched hyena: Azazel? My brother? You have a lot to learn about us, young Samsel. How do you think my brother made Azazel? Those kinds of demons are made from both spirit and blood.  
Dean switched weapons and angles behind. He attempts to stab Adrammelech with an angel blade.  
The Sock Demon grabs the sharp end from Sock Dean's hand and backhands him with the butt of the weapon.  
Adrammelech: Oh, sloppy foot-work there, let me help you.  
Adrammelech raises a darkening hand and starts to put it on Sock Dean's forehead.  
Sock Sam: NO!  
Sock Sam throws himself at the Sock Demon. Ruby's blade sinks into Adrammelech's chest and the Sock Demon turns his head at Sock Sam who is panting at his feet.  
Adrammelech: Well. That pinches my toes.  
Adrammelech yanks out the knife and drops it on the floor.  
Adrammelech: Tell me, Samuelence, have you ever tasted a plump little cotton sock crisped in its own amniotic fluid? It's delectable.  
Sock Dean scrambles backward and reaches for his angel blade, just out of reach.  
Sock Dean: Cass...anytime you and your friends want to show up would be great.  
The angel blade rematerializes in Dean's hand and in the same instant Castiel and two other angels plant their angel blades into the body of the Sock Demon. Sock Dean takes his chance and stabs under the angel's arms in a sneak attack. All three blades plunge in, drawing blood.  
Adrammelech: Et tu, Castiel?  
Sock Cass and the other angels say nothing but stab the Sock Demon again and again.  
Sock Dean blinks, but follows suit.  
Sock Sam rolled away from the fight and reached for his angel blade at his belt.  
Sock Woman 1: Looking for this?  
Sock Sam leaps at her and wrestles away the angel blade.  
Adrammelech chuckles and raises a darkened hand to the angel on right: Shalom, Uziel  
The angel vaporizes into fiery ash. Burnt wing marks mar Adrammelech's face in white ash.  
Sock Cass, Sock Dean, and the other angel back away.  
Sock Cass flares his wings: Why have you come back to earth, Adramiel?  
Adrammelech: Ah, have you remembered my old name, brother? I'm touched. And who says we ever left? I've got to say though, listening on Angel Radio to the lead up to the apocalypse: Better. Than. Radio. Theatre. The cancellation was a letdown, though. But since there hasn't been any motions toward another apocalypse in, oh, about a year, I figured I'd show my pretty face to you and your friends, and I don't know, jumpstart it.  
Sock Dean: I'll never say yes to Michael, besides. He's in the cage.  
Adrammelech: You keep telling yourself that, Michaelmeat.  
Sock Dean: Put a sock in it, Toasty!  
Sock Cass: Adramiel, you've grown powerful by eating the souls of the children of Hinnom, but your heart has become an empty void. Your destruction will come quickly if you do not repent and return to heaven with us.  
Adrammelech: Hmm. Do what I want…  
Adrammelech lifts one hand, then the other.  
Adrammelech: ...or do what I was created to do… That's a really hard question, Twinkle Toes. I'll get back to you on that.  
Sock Sam stands beside the angels and Sock Dean: What do we do?  
Sock Cass: He's too powerful for us to kill. He has so many, many souls sacrificed to him. We should leave.  
Sock Cass lifts his hands to put on the Sockchester's shoulders.  
Sock Sam: Wait! We can't just leave this town to this demon. Bobby mentioned using Jesus' name.  
Adrammelech: Okay. I really enjoyed this meet and greet, but my shifters have quotas to keep and if I'm not there… who's going to take care of those little ankle biters? Huh?  
Sock Dean charges the Sock Demon, but Adrammelech vanishes and reappears behind Sock Dean.  
Adrammelech: Oh, too slow. Are you dragging your feet about this?  
Sock Cass glances at Sock Sam: Do you know ancient Hebrew? Jesus is the latin version… Yeshua is-  
Sock Dean turns and Adrammelech places his blackened hand on Sock Dean's head.  
Sock Cass slams into Adrammelech, with little effect. Sock Cass rebounds to the ground.  
Sock Dean blindly slashes at the Sock Demon's throat with his angel blade.  
The other Sock Angel stabs from the side into Adrammelech's liver.  
Sock Sam raises his angel blade at the demon: By Yeshua, come out.  
A gash opens at Adrammelech's throat from Sock Dean's blade and an oily vapor bursts from the Sock Demon's mouth. It glistens like oil, but shoots into the earth, creating a fissure in the ground.  
Red fuzz drops out of the Sock Demon's vessel from its multiple wounds as it drops to the shattered pavement.  
Sock Dean breathes hard and rubs his forehead: I feel like I've been wrung out to dry. Is he dead?  
Sock Cass glances at the other angel: No. But he's been sent to Hell, and it will be awhile before he can find another willing vessel that can contain him.  
Sock Dean pulls two of the Sock Women up who are disoriented and looking around.  
Sock Woman 3: Where are we?  
Sock Dean: The road. I suggest you ladies find your feet and then your way home.  
Sock Sam: Cass, what was that? We can just say 'Yeshua' and the original demons get banished away?  
Sock Cass: It's more than just saying words, Sam. You can talk about me anytime, but I won't hear until you call for me. You invoked him.  
Sock Angel: You humans have a more profound bond with the son of man than we do. That's why you are able to cast them out, and we are not.  
Sock Sam: So what now?  
Sock Dean: I'd say we kill us a dirty pile of shifters and head on to Tennessee. I hear people are turning blue.  
Sock Cass: Be vigilant, Dean. Adrammelech will return in another form. If he wants to restart the apocalypse, we all need to be prepared.  
Sock Cass and the other Sock Angel disappear.  
Sock Dean: Great. Another apocalypse brewing. Is that all they can think of to do? What's wrong with hitting up every ride and booth in Disneyworld? Huh?  
Sock Woman 1: Woah.. those two pretty guys went poof!  
Sock Sam puts an arm around her: Dean, where's the impala? She's socked.  
Sock Dean gestures behind him: A block this way. Come on.  
Sock Sam: I'm still trying to wrap my head around this demon. I mean, mind control, angel blades and Ruby's knife didn't even wear the smallest hole in him, and I thought you were gonna die there.  
Sock Dean grunts: I was gonna die. Good call with the exorcism.  
Sock Sam: Do you think he meant I have Lucifer's blood in my veins? If Lucifer created the lower demons with his blood, then…  
Sock Dean: That's not you, though, Sammy. We couldn't stop yellow eyes, but you make your own decisions.  
Sock Sam: Yeah, and look where that got us.  
Sock Woman 1: Aw, Sammy, does it still cramp that you're different like us?  
Sock Woman 1 slams Sock Sam into the side of The Cardboard Impala ™.  
Sock Dean pulls his gun: Shifter!  
Sock Woman 1 yanks Sock Sam back up between her and Sock Dean: Be careful you don't shoot yourself in the foot.  
Sock Sam struggles and reaches for his belt.  
Sock Dean: So what's the plan now that you've got no leader anymore?  
Sock Woman 1: We'll survive. We always have.  
Sock Sam: Maybe so, but not you.  
Sock Sam slides a silver knife into the shifter's stomach. He twists around while she keels over, and stabs her heart as she collapses against him.  
Sock Dean holsters his gun: I'm ready to get out of this town.  
Sock Sam wipes his knife on Sock Woman 1's shirt and climbs into The Cardboard Impala ™.  
Sock Sam: We still need to kill the nest of shifters here.  
Sock Dean: Right...  
The Cardboard Impala ™ pulls a u-turn and heads back to the motel.  
Sock Dean: I'm gonna take a shower and then we'll head back out.  
Sock Sam: Yeah. I'll wash up some too.  
Sock Sam pulls off his bloody shirt and puts on a new one. Then he settles in front of his laptop again.  
Later.  
Sock Sam and Sock Dean creep up on an old abandoned rail station on the edge of town.  
Sock Dean: How did you know this was the nest?  
Sock Sam: I pinged all of the locations Sophia went to, this one didn't make sense.  
Sock Dean: Sophia?  
Sock Sam glanced at the side of the car where he was thrown earlier: Our shifter friend.  
Sock Dean. Right.  
Sock Dean loads a silver round into his gun: Alright. I'll take the front. Let's sock it to them!  
Sock Sam and Sock Dean take their positions. Then Sock Sam launches a grenade into one of the train station windows.  
Two shifters run out the front door. Two bullets later, they were dead.  
Sock Dean and Sock Sam fill the air with silver as each shifter flees from the building.  
Before long the sound of leaves and wind retake the scenery as Sock Dean releases his clip and loads again. He walks past each body confirming each shifter is dead.  
Sock Sam joins him and they finally return to the car.  
Sock Sam: This kind of demon is something we've never seen before.  
Sock Dean: Yeah. But they all want the same thing. You and me being worn by archangels to the prom.  
Sock Sam pulls open the door of The Cardboard Impala ™.  
Sock Sam: Well. That's never going to happen.  
Sock Dean: Yep. Never.  
Sock Dean tosses the grenade launcher back into the trunk and gets behind the wheel.  
The Cardboard Impala ™ pulls out of the town. Its tail lights disappear into the darkening clouds as a storm brews in the west. Sock Sam and Dean drive straight towards it.


	3. Episode 3: Sauk City, WI

(Author's Note: Thank you to Marion, who collaborated with me on this chapter. She is currently creating sock puppets of our beloved Supernatural characters and this chapter is an introduction to why she created Sock Sammy first!)

The Sockchester Brothers Supernatural

Episode 3

Sauk City, WI

A red haired Sock Woman runs down a darkened street. She glances behind her at intervals. In her hand, she holds a knife. She makes it to the house she's looking for. Her shaky hands manage to open the lock and close the door behind her. She sighs in relief and the knife clatters to the floor.

A Sock Man appears in the dark. His features are obscured by the light behind him

Sock Man: Sandy? I thought… No. You need to go away from here. It's not safe.

Sandy: There's a man following me! I had nowhere else to go!

Sock Man 2: Son? Why don't you introduce us to your girl?

Sock Man 3: Yeah, bro. She looks good enough to eat.

Sandy presses up against the door: What… What are you?

Sock Man: I'm sorry, Sandy. You shouldn't have come back here.

The Sock Men move into the light, their faces are ugly and moth-eaten. They are Rugarus. As one, they pounce on Sandy.

She screams.

Title Slide: The Sockchester Brother's Supernatural

Piles of dirty laundry pass by on either side, as if moving through time. The piles soon become smaller and smaller.

Sock Chuck stands before gigantic laundry drum. Inside murky water sloshes. A few Sock Angels stand around, all look into the cauldron with anticipation.

A Sock Wendigo surfaces and hisses at those assembled. Soap sud lather foams at the edges of the washer and cling to the sides of the Sock Wendigo.

Sock Chuck: No. No. He wasn't supposed to look like that at all. What is going on here? Lucifer!

Sock Lucifer glides over to Sock Chuck, all the while giving his brothers a smirk.

Sock Chuck: Hey, can you tell me. What is this thing?

Sock Lucifer: Uh, well it's obviously...you know. That thing you just made. Long arms, and fingers, and things.

Sock Chuck: Yeah. Huh. Kind of like the ones I made earlier. Hey, Mike, it's giving me the stink eye. Can you take it away?

Sock Michael grabs the Sock Wendigo's arm and they transport away.

Sock Lucifer: The ones with the teeth? Or the ones with the blue glowing tattoos? I think they're all kinda different.

Sock Chuck: Nope. They all kind of want to eat a lot. Kind of like those ones with the head that becomes a giant mouth.

Sock Lucifer: Ah. Yeah. Yeah. Leviathans, right? But we nixed that one.

Sock Chuck: Right, I know. I sealed them up in Purgatory, but why are all these things coming out wrong?

Sock Lucifer: Wrong? I mean, I like to eat just the same as anyone… Maybe you just need to eat something. You know? No creating on an empty stomach, am I right?

Sock Michael appears again: It's in the creature cage with the rest of them.

Sock Chuck: I was trying to make a tree person. Instead I got… whatever that is.

Sock Lucifer: Eh, it's not that bad. I'm sure the next one won't be so bad.

Sock Michael lifts up an arm: It tried to bite me. See?

The wound has already healed, and Sock Lucifer and Sock Chuck just look at him.

Sock Chuck: Hey, so did the Creation Basin get thoroughly cleaned after the Leviathans?

Sock Lucifer and Sock Michael look elsewhere. The sky, the ground. The murky soapsuds. Anywhere but their father.

Sock Lucifer clears his throat: I believe it was SOME body's turn to clean it out this time.

Sock Michael: Only because you said I was the oldest so I should go first. You were just trying to get out of cleaning.

Sock Lucifer: I was not! We needed to see how to do it, by example. Leadership, you know, it's an important quality.

Sock Michael: I needed you backing me up. It's a two angel job. I know you've got Gabe and Raph lined up before you do any of the dirty work. Show some responsibility Lucifer, I cleaned as much as I could before it was refilled.

Sock Lucifer: Well, obviously it wasn't good enough for Daddy.

Sock Chuck clears his throat: Uh, well. Hey, guys. Let's drain it and clean it again. Make sure there's no more Leviathan dye left in the Creation Basin. I want a clean cycle this time.

Sock Lucifer grumbles under his breath.

Sock Michael: Alright, you heard God. Empty the Creation Basin!

Present time.

Sock Sam and Sock Dean race down an open air motel hallway. Both are breathing hard. Sock Sam grabs an aerosol can from a cleaning cart as they run by.

They take positions on either side of a stairway and Sock Dean tosses his lighter across to Sock Sam.

A Rugaru charges down the stairs. Both Sockchesters step out and blast it with a makeshift flamethrower and handgun. Sock Dean's bullets blast clean through its neck. The monster crumbles and Sam wipes the blood spray off his face with the corner of his plaid sleeve.

Sock Sam: Ugh! Is that the last of them?

Sock Dean collapses on the stairs with Sock Sam and they survey the crispy, bloody mess that once was a Rugaru.

Sock Dean: I think so. I feel like this whole case has unraveled on us. First the chick with the knife.

Sock Sam: She thought you were stalking her, Dean.

Sock Dean: Well, didn't you see her eat that whole tub of ice cream? It's a classic sign.

Sock Sam: Yeah. Of being dumped.

Sock Dean: Well, we were on the right track anyway.

Sock Sam: She got eaten by her ex-boyfriend and his family because we scared her, so she went back to him.

Sock Dean: Yeah… this pack was nasty, especially getting the drop on us here.

Sock Sam: And who's fault is that? You're the one who gave her our motel room number.

Sock Dean stands up and starts lugging the limp, burnt sock away.

Sock Dean: She looked like Ginger from Giligan's Island, okay?

Sock Sam shakes his head, but gives Sock Dean a hand with the body. They drag it to the trunk of The Cardboard Impala ™ and drop it in.

Sock Dean: Baby is going to need a deep clean after this one.

Sock Dean paused and pulled out an old picture of Sock Sam, Sock Dean, and their parents when they were young from the top of the arsenal compartment.

Sock Dean: You know. It's not fair. Why should we have to deal with all this crap? We lost everything, and we've given so much, our parents, our lives, our souls. I just feel like we've got nothing more to give up.

Sock Sam: Well, who else can do this?

Sock Dean: I don't know. The angels ought to, or God, or somebody. Not us. We should be done by now.

Sock Cass appears behind them, also looking into The Cardboard Impala's ™ trunk.

Sock Cass: Hello Dean, Sam.

Sock Dean and Sock Sam turn to see the trenchcoat-wearing sock.

Sock Dean: Cass. I thought you were supposed to be down in New Mexico. That demon outbreak you were so worried about?

Sock Cass: I heard you call me.

Sock Dean: What?

Sock Sam: Oh, well, Dean was talking about angels in general, not you, Cass.

Sock Cass: What's wrong Dean?

Sock Dean: I don't know how God or you all weigh these things, but I think we've done enough. For every monster we kill, they've made another two vampires or werewolves or whatever. It seems like we're just chopping the hydra heads off and more come back every time and I'm tired. I wish I could kill the first alpha monsters and just be done with it.

Sock Cass: Is that what you truly want, Dean? You know you wouldn't be the same.

Sock Dean touched the edge of the picture: We would be a family. Monsters wouldn't exist. Sounds like Heaven to me.

Sock Cass: I can take you both back to then, but I may not be able to get you back out. It is a long, long time ago.

Sock Sam: Will you need to touch our souls for extra energy?

Sock Cass: I don't think that's necessary. I'm fully recharged with Heaven's power and it feels great.

Sock Dean gives Cass a sideways look.

Sock Dean: Are you alright, Cass?

Sock Cass: Of course. Now. You have everything you need?

Sock Dean grabbed a green duffel and loaded into it salt, silver rounds, iron, holy oil, a silver knife dipped in lamb's blood, and a few angel blades and an iridium machete.

Sock Sam tosses in a bottle of Shout! and gestures at the bloodstain starting to set on his face.

Sock Dean shrugs.

Sock Dean: I guess we're ready.

Sock Cass: Good luck!

Sock Cass wiggled his eyebrows.

Sock Sam: Wait. What?

Sock Cass touches Sock Sam and Sock Dean's shoulders and they blink.

They stand on the side of the gigantic washer. To the left of them is a huge hamper, inside are dozens of monster creations growling at the angels who walk by.

Sock Dean: What the-? Is this Heaven?

Sock Sam: I think so. Look.

Sock Sam points to the inside of the wash drum. Two shiny lights brighten the interior as they zip around and around.

Sock Dean: Wow. I guess the nerdy little guy had enough juice in him.

Sock Sam: I'm not sure that was…

Sock Dean: Let's just kill the monsters and go. It might be a brand new world after we're done.

Sock Sam and Sock Dean hurry to the looming hamper.

Sock Dean hands out weapons. Blades in hand, they head for the angels guarding the door.

Sock Chuck: Oh. Hey guys.

Sock Dean and Sock Sam blink to see Chuck, and several angels surrounding them.

Sock Dean lowers his angel blade, looks at the angels and curses.

Sock Chuck: Huh. I don't think I've created you guys yet. What are you doing here?

Sock Sam: Hey, uh Chuck, so get this, we're from a future time, I think, but we need to kill those monsters in that cage.

Sock Sam gestures at the hamper with his hand holding the angel blade.

Sock Lucifer: Now, wait a minute. Daddy-o just made those and they may not be all that pretty, but they haven't done anything yet.

Sock Gabriel: You're saying that these ones become as bad as the Leviathans?

Sock Dean: You have no idea.

Sock Chuck: Well, come on guys, Lucifer has a good point. They're pretty much innocent right now. Whether they choose to do good or evil is up to them. And honestly, it took a long time to make them. I'm tired!

Sock Dean: First of all, sentences starting with 'Lucifer has a good point' should not exist.

Sock Michael: Why?

Sock Sam: Er, um, Dean, I think this is, you know… before.

Sock Gabriel: Before what? What do you know?

Sock Dean: Just let us kill the monsters and we'll get out of the way here.

Sock Dean raises his angel blade.

Sock Chuck clicks his fingers together and the angel blades in Sock Sam and Sock Dean's hands crumble into Tide laundry powder.

Sock Chuck: Okay. Let's stop thinking about killing my new creations right off. They haven't done anything.

Sock Michael: For such weak creatures, these two certainly have a lot of spirit.

Sock Michael eyes Sock Dean up and down.

Sock Dean glares and makes a fist.

Sock Michael: Father, will you make this kind next? This one's not too wrinkled or pilly. He seems to have a strong enough form. I think this one could do it all for me, a simple wash and go.

Sock Dean: Like Hell, I won't!

Sock Chuck: Well, I guess so. They do seem to have turned out better than the other creatures I've made.

Sock Lucifer: Hey Dad, this one's looking at me like I killed it's puppy. Can I keep it?

Sock Sam shakes in anger while he glares at Lucifer.

Sock Lucifer walks around Sock Sam inspecting him like he's about to purchase a horse. He even checks out Sock Sam's mouth.

Sock Sam grits his teeth and continues to glare.

Sock Lucifer: Well, when you do fire up the great bubble bath again, I think I want one like this. A big, strong, and tall vessel so we can walk around on this world you made.

Sock Sam backs away, horrified.

Sock Dean: Shove a sock in it, Lucy!

Sock Dean hits Lucifer's smug sock face. Then socks him again and again.

Sock Dean: No one... is going to be... wearing us!

Sock Chuck rubs his hand over his face: Okay! Okay! Lucifer, I'll make your vessel as soon as we clean out the Creation Basin again. And use bleach this time! Sam and Dean, go home.

Sock Chuck waves his hand and the Sockchesters appear back at The Cardboard Impala ™ at the present time.

Sock Sam: Did we…? We just sealed our destiny there.

Sock Dean lowers his bleeding fists: Where's Cass?

Sock Gabriel sits up from the backseat of The Cardboard Impala ™ . He yawns and stretches.

Sock Gabriel: Hey! You're back. Did my younger self look dorky or amazing? You know you can be completely honest with me, guys.

Sock Sam: You pretended to be Cass!

Sock Gabriel: Guilty! You really didn't think Castiel had the juice to take you to the beginning of creation, did you?

Sock Dean: You set us up so Michael and Lucifer want our meatsuits! I'm gonna kill you!

Sock Gabriel smirks and disappears.

Sock Dean curses and slams his hand on The Cardboard Impala's side.

Sock Sam tosses his weapons into the trunk.

Sock Sam: Dean.

Sock Dean looks at Sock Sam.

Sock Sam: We're so screwed.


	4. Episode 4: Dyersburg, TN

The Sockchester Brothers' Supernatural

Episode 4

Dyersburg, Tennessee

A Sock Man wearing blue striped swim trunks walks out of a bathroom stall leaking blue water in his sockprints. He comes to the edge of a public pool. It resembles a bathtub. Several sock people are swimming around the pool. Some smaller socks are tossing a beach ball back and forth. Older socks, a bit more threadbare, swim laps across the pool

Without a sound, the Sock Man jumps into the water. A blue stain seeps from the splash waves and slowly drifts across the pool.

The Sock Man surfaces and swims the length of the pool. He gets out and returns to the shower stalls. He looks in the mirror and notices a blue swatch on his arm.

Sock Man: What the -?

The Sock Man rubs at the swatch, but it gets larger the more he swipes at his skin. He rubs his eyes and raccoon spots of blue appear on his face.

The Sock Man runs to the shower room, but it only makes his skin more and more blue with each movement. Little socks and Sock people from the pool rush in and scrub vainly at themselves, but slowly each one turns more and more blue. The socks begin to exclaim louder and louder as their skin worsens.

Sock Man: What is going on?!

Title Slide: The Sockchester Brothers' Supernatural

Sock Dean scrubs a blue microfiber cloth against the top edge of The Cardboard Impala ™ . His breathing is steady, focused on the physical exertion involved in polishing the car.

Sock Dean mumbles: I know, Baby, I know. But, we're better now, aren't we?

Sock Dean presses his lips together, but his sock face crumples and he bows his head.

He clenches the cloth into a fist and shakes his head to shake away the thoughts. Sock Dean squats to work on the licence plate: SOX-2Y5. He uses short vigorous motions as he cleans every speck of dust from the car's exterior.

Sock Sam watches his Sockbro out the kitchen window at Bobby's house. Concern wrinkled his face. Sock Bobby nurses a drink at his desk, a rugged book is laid in front of him.

Sock Sam: I really don't know what to do. That spin through time pulled a loose thread with him, Bobby. He's not even acting the same!

Sock Bobby: You just need to find him a case. You two idjits are simple like that; get some hunting action and he won't wear a black hole in himself.

Sock Dean is now buffing the hubcaps on The Cardboard Impala's tires. For the third time today.

Sock Sam: I mean, I understand why he's upset. He blames himself for attracting angel attention to us, as potential puppets for Michael and Lucifer.

Sock Bobby: Well none of that is on him! From what you tell me, it's that darn Trickster's fault!

Sock Sam: Yeah, he orchestrated things, but that wouldn't matter to Dean. No amount of saying it wasn't so will change his mind.

Sock Bobby: Well, like I said, he ought to get on a job to air out all this ridiculous guilt and self-blame.

Sock Sam: I've looked! The internet, the papers, nada. All we've had in the past week is that case of blue people in Tennessee, but the town is claiming responsibility, something about chemicals near the pool.

Sock Bobby: Well, maybe you boys ought to check it out anyway. It can't hurt to go for a drive and maybe get some of it off his chest.

Sock Sam nods, grabs a few beers from the fridge, and heads downstairs to meet his brother.

Sock Sam passes a bottle to Dean and leans against the worktable while facing The Cardboard Impala ™ .

Sock Sam: You ready to take her out for a drive again?

Sock Dean shoves the cleaning rag into the pocket of his work jeans. Grease stains lay in a few creases at odd angles and his t-shirt is sweaty and sticking to him in places.

Sock Dean: I know what you're doing, Sammy. I'm not completely stupid. You think I've lost a few threads, but I'm fine.

Sock Dean's smile is as weak as generic laundry detergent. His green button eyes are dull and devoid of amusement.

Sock Sam: You say that but -

Sock Dean swipes the grimy rag across his face: I said I'm fine.

Sock Sam opens his mouth and gestures with his hand: Uh, you've got a little…

Sock Dean finds a cleaner spot on the rag and wipes the spot again.

The spot smudges on Sock Dean's face, but Sock Sam ignores it.

Sock Dean sighs: So, what do you have?

Sock Sam passes the file to him, but Sock Dean turns his hand in a winding gesture.

Sock Dean: Short version.

Sock Sam: People are turning blue in Tennessee, the town says it's chemicals, but I'm not so sure.

Sock Dean: You're thinking witches?

Sock Sam: Maybe. It could be anything.

Sock Dean tosses the grimy rag into a bucket and throws the keys to Sam.

Sock Dean: Get her started. I gotta take a shower and change clothes, then we can get on the road. We've got some socking to do.

The Cardboard Impala ™ rolls to a stop in front of the Dyersburg Police Station. Sock Sam and Sock Dean are wearing their suits, but each clips a CDC badge to their front pockets.

Sock Sam: Ugh, faking identities and long road trips are starting to wear on me. Look! I think I'm getting a hole in my head.

Sock Dean: Come on, Sammy. Hunting's good for you. Right up there with Diet Coke and exercise.

Sock Sam: I don't think that's…

Sock Dean and Sock Sam walk in to the police station.

They head toward a desk that has Detective Weaver on the name plaque. A blonde haired woman sits turned away from them, her nylon clad legs ended in classy high heels that perch on the other side of the L-shaped desk. She reads from a manila case file in her lap.

Sock Dean nudges Sam: You know I love blondes, man.

Detective Weaver: And I love redheads but we don't always get what we want, do we?

She turns her chair and takes a good look at them.

Detective Weaver: ...but I might be convinced to make an exception.

Sock Dean: Agents Burdon and Price, CDC. And you -

Detective Weaver's demeanor changes: -have been waiting for you to send me someone for days! Twenty people cooped up in a couple community rooms has been trying - to say the least. We've run out of pizza, board games, and makeup for them. And they're starting to smell like dirty laundry. Can I send them home yet?

Sock Sam: Once we've interviewed them and determined a treatment. Hopefully.

Sock Dean: We understand you're unraveling from the stress. Just tell us the facts and we'll sort them out of your way.

Detective Weaver looks from Sock Sam to Sock Dean and back again.

Detective Weaver: Alright, this is what we know so far.

She hands them the case file and twists her hands together.

Detective Weaver: Stan Woolworth was the initial infector. He infected all the people who were in the Dyersburg Public Pool and a few who jumped in afterward who didn't know the infection was in the pool at that point. We have samples of the pool water, but we thought it was in our best interest to close the pool and drain it. The pool's been closed ever since, but it's summer and we're getting daily complaints. The victims all claimed their skin color simply wiped off, almost like they were actually blue beneath.

Sock Sam: And they haven't infected anyone else who has come in contact with them?

Detective Weaver: Do I look blue to you?

Sock Dean: No, but we might have to check. Just to confirm, you know, with the CDC.

Detective Weaver snorts: In your dreams.

Detective Weaver turns down a hall and pulls a key from her lanyard at the door to the quarantine room.

Sock Dean: Dude…

Sock Sam: Nope.

Sock Dean raises his eyebrows and follows Detective Weaver into an interview room with Sock Sam behind him.

Sock Dean: And none of the quarantined people are acting strangely or look odd?

Detective Weaver: They're blue. That's fairly odd, I'd say.

Sock Dean: I meant besides that.

Detective Weaver: Mr. Woolworth is being blamed by most of the rest of the quarantined folks. However, he claims he has no idea how it happened. He just jumped in and everything turned blue.

Sock Sam: And the story about the chemicals being dumped?

Detective Weaver: There weren't any chemicals anywhere near that pool. Everyone knows that, but it's the only thing that explains it to everyone. They all think they're going to get better.

Detective Weaver turns toward Dean and looks up at him: They are going to get better, right?

Sock Dean: Uh, yeah. Good as new.

Sock Sam: Does Mr. Woolworth have any enemies? Anyone who would prank him like this?

Detective Weaver: Well, he is a teacher at our local high school. History teacher. You think some of the kids may have done this and aren't coming forward?

Sock Sam: Maybe. Let's go ahead with the interviews and we'll get back with you.

Detective Weaver dropped a blue and white business card into Sock Dean's hand: You have my number, if there's anything you need.

Dyersburg High School. A stately building, made of mostly bricks is flat on top. It is basically just a small squat tower. A footrest for a giant, maybe. Sock Sam and Sock Dean climb out of The Cardboard Impala ™ and move toward the front doors.

Sock Dean: Well, those interviews were a bust.

Sock Sam: I don't think your Smurf jokes landed well either.

Sock Dean: What can I say? They needed some humor. Teaching the kids to sing the theme song was a step up from the yawnfest earlier.

Sock Sam: Their parents hate you more than Mr. Woolworth now, and that's saying something.

Sock Dean shrugs and pulls open one of the doors to the front of the school. A mixture of the smell of slightly fresh spiral notebooks, partially chewed gum, and a faint tinge of waxed floors greets them.

The principal's office sits behind a stylish check-in station near the front entrance.

The office assistant with a nameplate that said Janice frowns at their badges: This is about those blue folks, isn't it?

Sock Dean: Yes ma'am, just making sure everything's fine here.

Office Assistant Janice: I knew I should have inoculated Chelsea, but no, Sharon Johnson, she's my next door neighbor who is teaching me all about the Vegan way. Anyway, she talked me into a delayed schedule, make sure she's ready, you know? Don't wanna get a case of ADHD, you know? Because Carrie Peters' son Travis got it and he's, well, delayed, you know.

Sock Sam opens his mouth but closes it and turns back to his Ipad.

Sock Dean: Uh, inoculated against what? Turning blue?

Office Assistant Janice: I don't know, you're the CDC guys.

She hurries off to her desk and shuffles some papers around.

Sock Dean fiddles with pages in the Science and Nature magazines. Sock Sam continues researching on his Ipad. Janice lets them into Principal Myers office after a short sit.

Principal Myers: What exactly is the CDC investigating?

Sock Sam: We're determining who Mr. Woolworth was in contact with to see if there's any other people who may have contracted the infection.

Principal Myers: Stan has been a history teacher at our school for over 15 years. He helps out at the local museum on his weekends. He took the kids on a field trip two weeks ago. Do you think they're infected?

Sock Dean: No, probably not. Have any of the kids held a grudge against Mr. Woolworth? Wiccans, for example?

Principal Myers: What kind of school do you think we are? Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters? The kids seem to think of him as codgy and clueless, but he's mostly a teddy bear. He rarely made the students upset. Why is the CDC asking about Wiccans?

Sock Dean: Just need to ask all the questions they give us. So you know, witches...tend to be very...unsanitary.

Principal Myers: Unsanitary? What do you mean, unsanitary?

Sock Sam pulls at Sock Dean's elbow: Thank you for your time.

Sock Sam pushes Sock Dean out the door and they reconvene in front of The Cardboard Impala ™.

Sock Dean: So, did we get anything useful?

Sock Sam: You know Dean, it could just be the Trickster. Turning a whole pool blue sounds like something he might do.

Sock Dean: Yeah, well. Pushing us into becoming freaking stooges for his brothers sounds like something he would do.

Sock Sam: Still, we should make sure, just so we know if we're wasting our time here.

Sock Dean: Yeah, or are about to step into another trap of that Archangel.

Sock Sam: Wait. Is today Tuesday?

Sock Dean shakes his head and calls Cass on his phone. Then he paces at the side of The Cardboard Impala ™. Sock Sam gets in and starts tapping at the screen of his Ipad.

Sock Cass: Dean, is there a problem?

Sock Dean: What? No. Can you tune your angel radio or whatever and find out where your freaking manipulative brother is?

Sock Cass: Uh, you are going to have to be more specific. I have several thousand brothers who that could be described like that.

Sock Dean: Gabriel, Cass.

Sock Cass: Yes. I'll find him.

Silence. Sock Dean opens his mouth to say something more, but closes it and presses his lips together as he waits.

Sock Cass: I believe he's currently in Dubai. Soaking in the sun, the women, and the alcohol.

Sock Dean: Figures. Thanks Cass. Let us know if you need any help with those demons down there.

Sock Cass: I will.

Sock Dean pockets his phone: Alright, so it's probably not our favorite archangel.

Sock Sam: Yeah… and I haven't found much about any witches in the area. But… this is interesting.

Sock Sam shows Sock Dean his Ipad.

Sock Sam: Check it out, Stan Woolworth recently added a South American 'Fountain of Youth' area to the museum. Among the donated items is a vial of blue water claimed to be from the actual Fountain of Youth.

Sock Dean squeezes the bridge of his nose: So what, vampire blood or something? What does this have to do with the little blue men?

Sock Sam shrugs: Maybe nothing, but the principal did say that Stan took the kids there recently. If it's a cursed object, it's blue anyway, maybe it'll be what we need.

Sock Dean: What I need is a cold one and a solid lead. I don't need to be dragged around musty museums that smell like a taxidermy shop.

Sock Sam: Fifteen minutes, tops. We'll check with EMF, and ask a few questions. Then I'll buy you a drink.

Sock Dean: Fine.

Sock Dean starts up The Cardboard Impala ™ and they take off to the Dyer County Museum.

Sock Sam and Sock Dean walk around the darkened display cases holding their EMF detectors, but nothing seems amiss. Their sensors are quiet.

Sock Dean: This looks like that 'Fountain of Youth' exhibit you mentioned. There's that vial of blue water.

Sock Sam: Yeah, the plaque says the donors are Dr. Stanley Woolworth and a Dr. Louisiana Ferrari.

Sock Dean quirks his eyebrows: Her last name is Ferrari? Sounds fast.

A museum intern, based on her lanyard, steps into Sock Sam and Sock Dean's conversation. She is dark skinned with crimped dark hair and stylish glasses.

Museum Intern: It's actually a pretty common last name in Italy. She's the real treasure to Dyersburg. She's brought over half of the good stuff here from all over the world.

Sock Sam: I'm sorry, you're -?

Museum Intern: Shae Crow, I help Dr. Stan and Dr. Ferrari sometimes. Dr. Stan likes to put his name on most of the donated items, but Dr. Ferrari is the one who actually goes to find them. She's the real archeologist.

Sock Dean: Hey Sam, look at the side of the vial. You see that dried black drip?

Sock Sam and Sock Dean exchange glances.

Sock Sam: Where exactly did this Dr. Ferrari find this Fountain of Youth?

Museum Intern Shae: She couldn't tell me. I mean, come on, if everyone knew it wouldn't be special anymore, right?

Sock Dean: We're gonna need to know where Dr. Ferrari is right now.

Museum Intern Shae: Uh, no clue. She comes when she wants to drop off new things and disappears back into the jungle, I guess. There's a lot of mystery to her too.

Sock Dean: Alright, well, can you show me some more things Dr. Ferrari brought back here. That one looks like an ancient whiskey bottle...

Sock Dean leads the museum intern away and motions behind her back at Sam.

Sock Sam waves him off, already retrieving his EMF and thoroughly scanning the vial.

When Sock Sam and Sock Dean pull out of the museum parking lot, Sam is back on his Ipad and Dean shakes his head.

Sock Dean: Forty-five minutes, Sam! I had to fake needing to take a leak to get out of there.

Sock Sam: Sorry, I just decided I should take a sample since I wasn't getting any reading from the EMF.

Sock Dean: So it's not ectoplasm?

Sock Sam: The EMF would have gone off.

Sock Dean: So what… then? Khan worm?

Sock Sam: Yahtzee! I got her. Looks like Dr. Ferrari been living at a charge-by-week place outside of Memphis, two hours away. Wow. Dean. Every charge for the past four weeks has been to the motel. I'm not sure she's gone out of her room for anything.

Sock Dean shrugs and tips his head, "I mean, if you've got everything you need…Food, sex, TV…"

Sock Sam points to the highway sign: Memphis.

Sock Dean: You're going to owe me a couple more rounds for this one, you know that?

The Shady Branch motel is a brick stucco building with two levels. The lower level looks a little more grimey and worn. A biker sock walks out of one room and hops on his motorcycle, rumbling off to nowhere. The upper level looks a little more homey for one star motel standards. Fake potted palms collect dust on the corners of the upper balcony.

Sock Sam and Dean pull in and park near the end by a set of stairs leading to the upper level.

Sock Sam closes his Ipad: Looks like she's in room 205.

Sock Dean climbs out of The Cardboard Impala in his Fed suit. Sock Sam wears a similar one. They jog up the stairs and Sock Dean knocks.

Sock Dean: Dr. Ferrari! Federal Agents! Open up!

No response. Sock Dean gestures to Sock Sam and he pulls out his lockpicking kit.

Sock Sam slides two small metal pieces out of his kit, but pauses when he hears the familiar sound of a handgun slide chamber a bullet.

Sock Dean draws his own weapon and kicks open the door.

A tripwire quivers at the force of the door inches away from it. Sock Dean turns his gun to the corner, where a black-haired woman presses up against the air conditioning unit. She's sitting at the floor, legs braced against the floor to help with her weapon's kick. Her gun is already trained on Dean's green button eyes.

Sock Dean: Aw, crap.

Sock Sam steps in beside him.

Sock Dean: She's blue too.

Louisiana: What is it that you mean, blue too?

Louisiana lowers the gun and carefully unhooks her trip line.

Sock Dean watches her fluid movement as she rises from the floor. Sock Sam slowly moves into the room and closes the door behind them.

Sock Sam: So a swimming pool full of people suddenly became blue in Dyersburg a few weeks ago. Actually you look less blue than them.

Louisiana returns her gun to a holster strapped to her blue-tinged thigh: Dyersburg? Oh Stanley, that absolute idiot!

Sock Dean eyes the smoke grenade attached to the tripwire and raises his eyebrows in approval.

Sock Sam: Can you tell us how you became blue, Dr. Ferrari?

Louisiana paces along the front aisle beside the air conditioner: Isn't it obvious? Or are you idiots as well? I drank also from the Fountain of Youth. That imbecile must have attempted to make a fountain of his own.

Sock Dean takes a seat on the bed: Just start from the beginning, Dr. Ferrari.

Louisiana: Please, Dr. Ferrari is the woman who holds office hours in Cairo and can't be bothered to come home for Christmas holidays, just call me Louisiana. Forgive me, who are you?

Sock Sam scrambles for his badge, but Sock Dean answers: I'm Dean Sockchester, and this is my brother Sam, but please, go on.

Sock Dean pats the bed for her to sit. Sock Sam clears his throat.

Louisiana: I see, Dean. I searched the deep cavities under the Xunantunich ruins in Belize. The entrance was hidden through an ancient well, but there were rumors of a dried up pool past many chambers. Those chambers had your average pressure traps, triplines and the like. The pool chamber almost closed without me, but I rolled under the door.

Sock Dean nods and rubs the back of his neck: Of course, because you're freaking awesome.

Louisiana looks at Dean appraisingly and gives him a charming smile: At first, I was disappointed to discover only the dried and empty fountain. But the Mayan glyphs on the walls around it were so detailed and then there was another language beside it. One I did not recognize. I took rubbing after rubbing of the glyphs. It was after I circled the room with my rubbings that I saw the pool was starting to fill with the bluest water I'd ever seen, but it wasn't until it started overflowing onto the floor that I tried to escape.

Sock Sam: How did you escape?

Louisiana: I carry a small bar of C4 on me in case any job goes south.

Sock Sam: You demolished the door? I thought you were an archeologist?

Louisiana: Which one cannot be if you're dead. I bottled a portion of the water before I left and brought it back home. Sorted out the glyphs on the plane ride. That's when I learned I had discovered the Fountain of Youth. I bottled a smaller amount into the vial and put it in Stan's possession to donate to the museum. The rest I kept with me, until I decided to try it myself.

Sock Dean: Worst Idea Ever.

Louisiana: Yes. I suppose so. Now I cannot do any work without strange looks in the civilized world. On the other hand, most tribal people will assume I'm a god. Not the worst trade I've ever made. Sock Dean: Way to stay positive.

Louisiana: Do either of you happen to carry an abyaa on your person?

Sock Dean: A what?

Sock Sam: It's a, uh, black dress used in Islamic culture, it would cover her from head to toe.

Sock Dean: And cover up those legs? That'd be a crime!

Sock Sam: Dean!

Sock Dean: Sam saves his for late night stakeouts and Halloween.

Sock Sam: Stuff a sock in it, Dean! We don't have one. But is there anything you discovered in that cavern that could help us figure out how to reverse this?

Louisiana stands up and digs in her pack: Nothing, unless you understand this strange language. The languages I know are mostly extinct cuneiforms and dialects of French and Spanish.

Louisiana waves some rubbings in front of Sam.

Sock Sam: Wait… is that… Enochian?

Sock Dean hops up from the bed and takes a sheet of the rubbings from Sam.

Sock Dean: It looks like.

Louisiana: What is Enochian? That sounds middle-eastern. Pre-Hebrew?

Sock Sam: Try the language of angels.

Louisiana glances between Sam and Dean, her pack, and the door.

Louisiana: Alright… I'll have to take your word for it.

Sock Sam: Look, a month ago, you probably wouldn't have believed a person could have blue skin, so just trust us, angels are real. One of them is a friend of ours.

Sock Dean pulls out his phone and pokes his head out the door: One second.

Louisiana turned to Sock Sam: What is it he's doing?

Sock Dean: Hey Cass, can you fly over for a minute? Shady Branch Motel, just outside of Memphis, room two-oh-fi-.

Sock Cass appears in the middle of the room. His trenchcoat is speckled with demon blood, and his angel blade is coated in it.

Sock Cass: Hello, Dean.

Sock Sam looks up from the Enochian rubbings and his eyes lock on Castiel's bloody blade. He swallows and glances at Louisiana.

Louisiana's fingers stray to her gun at her thigh again.

Louisiana: Who the -? This man is what you call an angel?

Sock Cass wipes the blade on the side of his coat and returns it to an inside pocket.

Sock Dean: Cass, are you okay?

Sock Cass: I'm overwhelmed. The demons have been taking biker gangs and running them in and out through small towns all around the west. It's causing so much havoc.

Sock Sam: We called you because this Enochian text was inside the cavern with blue water that turned these people blue.

Sock Cass turns to Louisiana: I see. Do you happen to be from Kentucky?

Louisiana: No? Italy.

Sock Cass turns to the rubbing and reads: "Weak creation, your life to strength renewed. Cast death away eternally. In the dark, the hidden knowledge of the Old Ones births, grows anew." No. This cannot be correct.

Louisiana: I don't get it. It doesn't even rhyme.

Sock Sam: Old Ones? What does that mean?

Sock Dean runs a hand through his hair: No. Wait. Leviathans? Again? Really?

Sock Cass presses his lips together and rereads the rubbings, "Dean, this is old magic. Somehow some Leviathans must have escaped Purgatory and created a way to survive by turning some humans into Leviathans with this spelled water.

Sock Sam: Wait a minute. She's becoming a Leviathan?

Sock Cass: I will see.

Before Louisiana can say anything, Sock Cass sets two fingers on her forehead.

After a moment, Sock Cass drops his hand: I'm sorry.

Sock Dean: She's turning?

Sock Cass: Her body is already accepting it. She's becoming less blue every moment.

Sock Dean: No. No. There's got to be a way to reverse or stop it. We have twenty people in Dyersburg who look like freaking smurfs.

Sock Cass: I can attempt to remove the Leviathan threads, but I'm not sure how much will be left of her human self.

Louisiana: Hey! Hey! I'm standing right here. Stop discussing my fate and explain what this is to me. I'm becoming a monster?

Sock Sam: Yeah, apparently you consumed a spell and are becoming Leviathan, but we'll try to figure out how to fix it.

Sock Dean: Maybe we can reverse the spell somehow?

Sock Sam: I'll call Rowena and see if she has any ideas.

Sock Sam steps outside the motel room, and Sock Cass pulls off his trenchcoat to rinse the bloody front and sleeves in the sink.

Louisiana turns to Dean: Tell me what a Leviathan is.

Sock Dean: Well, the chompers were God's first beasts. They just eat everything. When they're not wearing someone, they're just black goo.

Louisiana: Splendid. I gained eternal life as The Blob.

Sock Dean: I don't know if you'll believe me, but it could be worse. You could be 'destined' or whatever crap they say to become the puppet of God's right-hand angel and kill your brother who's possessed by the devil.

Louisiana: Come again?

Sock Sam returns to the room: Okay, Rowena thinks we could try bleach baths. It's an unmagical way to get rid of the Leviathans threads. Hopefully, or at least temporarily damage them enough for Cass to destroy them.

Sock Dean: Okay, so let's head to the store and get Louisiana back to normal.

Louisiana lifts her hand: This new plan, I am a fan of it.

Sock Cass returns, now wearing a dripping trench coat with some red splotches on the front.

Sock Cass: I doubt it will work on her. She's progressed too much. Even if I removed all the Leviathan threads, she might not be the same person anymore.

Sock Dean: Sam! Cass! We have to try to save her. Isn't that what you always say?

Sock Sam: Yeah, but we have 20 people in Dyersburg who need to be saved or we'll have an entire Leviathan colony here.

Sock Dean: Okay. Fine.

Sock Dean grabs the Impala's keys and slaps them into Sam's hand.

Sock Dean: You and Cass take care of Dyersburg. I'll keep an eye on Louisiana.

Louisiana crosses her arms: A nanny is unneeded, Mulder.

Sock Sam and Cass hesitate. Sock Dean lifts his hands.

Sock Dean: Hey, I'll be fine.

Sock Sam: Yeah, that's what I'm worried about.

Sock Cass and Sock Sam leave.

Louisiana huffs and plops into a chair.

Louisiana: Splendid. Right on the cusp of a breakthrough, discovering the ancient remains of the fabled Fountain of Youth, I spoiled my chances and sealed my fate as a monstrosity.

Sock Dean: We'll find a cure. We have to.

Louisiana: What? Will fixing me help assuage some kind of guilt or responsibility you have toward me? Or are you simply trying to fix yourself?

Sock Dean: Listen, Ferrari, you don't know anything about us. What we do, and what kind of crap we're in. Your problems are just a job, so focus on thinking human thoughts, and I'll try to keep the two of us alive.

Louisiana curtly nods: Fine.

She pushes past him to the bathroom.

Sock Dean: Fine.

Louisiana slams the door shut.

Dyersburg Police Station.

Sock Cass carries two jugs of bleach with him as they head up the steps to the station: Are you certain this bleach bath idea will work?

Sock Sam: People have used bleach baths for nearly a century to treat skin diseases, besides, Leviathan's hate the stuff. Just make sure they don't ingest anything and that they rinse off, bleach can be fatal.

Detective Weaver: Agent Price. Can I let these people go yet? They've been trying to pick the locks and are growing more agitated daily.

Sock Sam: Uh, Yes. We've determined that the best treatment is bleach baths and a thorough examination, by our associate, uh, Agent Chandler.

Sock Cass: Have they shown early signs of cannibalism yet? Toes? Fingers?

Detective Weaver: Excuse me?

Sock Sam: What Agent Chandler means is, how irritated are they?

Detective Weaver: See for yourselves.

She leads them down the hallway to the community rooms. Two burly guards blockade the door.

A shout goes up from inside the community room, and a half a dozen people rush to push against the door.

Sock Cass: It may be difficult to get them to cooperate.

Sock Sam: We need to separate them. One by one. Those with lighter shades of blue will be more uh, contaminated, than the darks. Where can we give them a bleach bath?

Detective Weaver: We only have shower stations here.

Sock Sam: Is it possible to pipe bleach into the system?

Detective Weaver shakes her head: Are you kidding me? Look, you can see if the church across the street will let you use their baptistery.

Sock Cass: A church? Good.

Sock Sam: Okay, but we still need to get them over there without anyone making a break for it.

Sock Cass: I could sedate them, or fly them over.

Sock Sam: There's twenty of them, Ca- I mean Chandler, and you need to save your energy to remove the Leviathan threads.

Detective Weaver: Did you say fly? Leviathan? Is that the skin disease that's making them blue?

Sock Sam: More or less, sure.

Detective Weaver looks at Cass strangely: I can make sure the quarantine patients stay sorted and cross the street to the church, if you really believe this bleach bath will work.

Sock Sam: It has to.

Sock Dean knocks on the door to 205, his arms hold a large brown paper sack. A white bottle of bleach is nestled beside a six pack and covered by a half a dozen prepackaged snack cakes.

Louisiana opens the door with a sigh and steps back into the room.

Sock Dean: Miss me?

Louisiana rolls her eyes and sits at the table where she stares at the rubbings. Her lips mouth the foreign words as she goes from one page to the other.

Sock Dean sets the sack down. The bottles clink on the table.

Louisiana glances up at him for a moment, before finding her place again and again wordlessly form words with her peach-pink lips.

Sock Dean clears his throat and tosses the snack cakes on the table, then sets out the case of beer between them.

Louisiana reaches for one: Thank God.

Sock Dean covers her hand with his on the top of the bottle.

Louisiana arches her eyebrows: What? Is there nothing I can indulge in?

Sock Dean pulls the bottle out of the case past her hand, and opens it with his ring, then he hands it to her.

Sock Dean: Listen, I'm, uh, not good with apologies, so I'm just sorry that this mess happened to you and I, uh, do care about what happens to you.

Sock Dean pulls another bottle, opens it on his ring and takes a big gulp to settle himself.

Louisiana snorts and takes a drink: You care? Is that the phrase you use for every damsel in distress?

Sock Dean leans against the opposite chair: No. I'm actually kind of impressed by you. You dodge pressure traps, speak at least seven languages-

A smile twitches at Louisiana's lips: Eight.

Sock Dean: You're like a female Indiana Jones. You go all over the world to find ancient treasures, not to mention you looked very familiar with your weapon.

Louisiana lowers her rubbings.

A mischievous glint shines in her eyes: You ought to see me field-strip it.

Sock Dean sets down his beer: And now I'm dying to see that.

Louisiana stands, runs her fingers to her gun strapped to her thigh. Then she winks, draws, frees the clip into her waiting fingers, dry fires while setting down the clip,unscrews the barrel, releases the slide, and pops the recoil spring into her fingers again.

Sock Dean breathes a slow whistle.

Louisiana tips her head with that same enticing smile and then reforms her gun in two blinks of Sock Dean's eyes. She holsters it and steps toward him.

Louisiana: What do you think?

Sock Dean: I think you're incredibly sexy, freaking awesome, and-

Louisiana presses her lips to Dean's, her fingers tousle his felt hair, and her other hand runs against the edge of his cotton jawline.

Sock Dean responds with his own lips and captures a handful of her raven hair as he directs the angle of their kiss. His right hand rests against her hip, toying with the upper edge of the leather straps of her holster against her skin.

Louisiana makes a soft noise. Then her teeth sinks into Sock Dean's lips.

Sock Dean swings to push her away, but her hands on his face are like a vice.

Sock Dean: Crp! Crp!

He tries to push forward to headbutt her, but she holds on all the tighter. Frantic, Dean blindly grabs for the paper sack. He vaguely hears beer bottles smashing on the floor, but finally grasps the large plastic bottle inside. Unscrewing the lid, he pops it off, and splashes the bleach at Louisiana.

She releases and recoils as it sizzles against her blue skin, she falls backward and slices her hand on one of the broken bottles.

Sock Dean: Holy crap, what happened?

Sock Dean holds the plastic bottle in between himself and Louisiana, and prepares to give her another splash.

Louisiana: I don't… Oh no! This is bad, so bad. I am becoming that monster you spoke of!

Sock Dean: Now calm down. What were you feeling?

Louisiana: I was just so hungry. I wanted to taste your lips. They are very good to taste, you know, and then I wanted to -really- taste your lips. Do you know what it is that I mean?

Sock Dean: Uh, no. Not really.

Sock Dean wipes his chin with his left hand and it comes away with blood.

Louisiana looks at her hand. It's oozing black. She looks at Sock Dean, horror marking her face.

Sock Dean: Okay, you're turning too fast. We need to slow it down some.

Louisiana covers her mouth with her hands: Very well, what is it you have in mind?

A squat tan brick building with a green roof sat unassuming on the corner. A small portico shades the doors into the parking lot.

Sock Sam: Doesn't look like much.

Sock Cass: Does the bunker look like much from the outside?

Sock Sam nods: Point taken.

They walk through the front doors and a young church secretary points over her crochet needles down a hallway with an abstract wood design formed down the hall.

Sock Cass meets the secretary's eyes before they continue on: Thanks Savannah.

Her eyes flash up, startled, but they have already moved down the hall.

Sock Sam nudges the angel: Try not to be...too weird.

Sock Cass blinks at Sam: But I know her. Well, I've carried her prayers sometimes to Heaven, assisted in a couple missions on her behalf.

Sock Sam: Uh, she doesn't look like a hunter. She's crocheting.

Sock Cass nods: Baby blankets for the NICU at the local hospital. She does important work for the little socks.

The pastor's office consists of a few bookshelves crammed full of literature, desk, computer, and a few off-white couches.

Sock Sam mumbles: Looks like a cleaner version of Bobby's.

Pastor: Hello, I'm Pastor Phillip Watts. How can I help you today?

Sock Cass: He's Sam, and I'm an Angel of the Lord. We need to borrow your baptistery for a few hours.

Pastor: I'm sorry. You're an angel?

Sock Cass: Yes.

Sock Sam: Sorry, he's a little blunt. We just need to borrow the baptistery to give a few patients who are being held at the police station a bleach bath.

Pastor Phillip: Uh, that's not really how we want our baptistery used. It's consecrated to the Lord. It's for those who want to be baptised…

Sock Cass: Listen, long ago, I saw the priest at Nob give David and his men the consecrated bread because they were hungry and had no ordinary bread. Even Jesus the Christ healed on the Sabbath, and his disciples picked corn because they were hungry.

Pastor Phillip: I see, um, yes, forgive me for my lack of mercy. It's just a very unusual request.

Sock Sam: That's understandable. We just need the basin to help cure them.

Sock Cass: Pray earnestly as well, or we'll probably all die.

Sock Dean eyes Louisiana as she leans against the bathroom door. She tugs the straps to her thigh holster free and sets the gun and holster outside the door. The warm water rushes out of the faucet into the tub beside him as he measures out enough bleach for her bath.

Sock Dean: It's going to hurt like Hell, but hopefully it'll keep the monster in check for a little while.

Louisiana bites her lower lip: How about we make a deal?

Sock Dean: What do you mean?

Louisiana slides her leather jacket off and tosses it atop her gun

Louisiana: If we survive this, I get a raincheck on that kiss.

Sock Dean touches the tender marks on his chin and lips: Deal. What can I say? I like a feisty girl sometimes.

Louisiana raises her eyebrows again as she kicks off her boots and socks and joins him beside the bathtub.

Louisiana: Feisty?

Sock Dean nods. His eyes slide across her button eyes to the flirty smile at her lips, to the perfect curve of her cotton neck, down to the simple blouse, the hiking shorts even the natives in Belize must have drooled about, and the strong calves, ending at her toes painted silver which matches her skin's slight blue hue.

Louisiana repeats: Feisty?

Sock Dean raises his eyes, only for her to pull him with her into the bathtub. Sock Dean remembers to close his eyes and mouth as they tumble in, but the splash instantly soaks his clothes.

Louisiana is screaming. He vaguely hears it and flails for the side of the tub to keep his weight from her. Somehow in the course of their fumbling, he ends up sitting in the tub while she struggles in the water above him.

Sock Dean brings his arms around her and keeps her face out of the water.

Sock Dean: Hey, Hey. You're doing fine. You're okay.

Louisiana's arms and legs spasm and she clenches and unclenches her jaw as she stares into his green button eyes.

Louisiana's lips quiver: It...hurts. Everything...hurts.

Sock Dean: I know. You've made it through a minute. Just nine more and we can get out.

Louisiana clenches and unclenches her hands: I...really want...to kill you.

Sock Dean grins: But you haven't yet. You can sock me later.

Louisiana kicks the side of the tub as she cries: Let me out! I can't do this!

Sock Dean runs his hands over her arms as she spasms again.

Tears leak out of Louisiana's eyes: Just...hold me.

Sock Dean pulls her close and watches the pain flicker over Louisiana's face. They stay that way for a few more minutes.

Then Louisiana gasps.

Sock Dean: Louisiana, what's wrong?

She stands and slips out of the tub, dribbling water on the already soaked floor from their prior splash into the tub.

Sock Dean watches the streams of water slip down her soaked blouse and shorts and puddle on the floor.

Louisiana sighs: I'm just...so...hungry.

Sock Dean: Crap.

Sock Dean backs into the corner of the tub and kicks the water at her.

Louisiana snarls at him, then steps out of the bathroom and walks into the room.

Sock Dean: Crap!

Sock Dean scrambles out of the tub and runs into the room. His cotton skin immediately prickles from the cold room. Louisiana turns the knob on the door to leave.

Sock Dean launches into her and pulls her to the floor with him. Their wet clothes stick to his arms, but her skin is slick so he grabs a handful of her shirt.

Louisiana twists like a cat out of his grip and eyes him. She glances at the door behind him, then at the blood on his chin. Her tongue moistens her bottom lip.

Sock Dean raises to a crouch in front of the door: Sorry Honey, I can't let you out.

Louisiana: That's fine, I'll eat in.

Louisiana leaps at him, but Sock Dean dodges toward the air conditioner. He grabs one of Louisiana's arms, but she uses his own momentum against himself and slams the side of his head into the side of the air conditioner. A gash opens up on Sock Dean's cheek.

Sock Dean lashes out with his elbows and fists as he is momentarily stunned. Louisiana backs away to avoid his hands, but Sock Dean kicks out his leg to catch her heel. She stumbles and lands on her back.

Sock Dean wipes the blood from his cheek. He stands and grabs Louisiana's wrists, but she twists them and pulls him down with her. She tightens her arms around his neck, slowly siphoning off his air.

Panicked, Sock Dean grabs for her face, poking her eyes, nose, and leaving a scratch that oozes black goo down the side of her cheek, near her ear. It's enough for Louisiana to loosen her hold on him for an instant.

Sock Dean kicks away from Louisiana's hold and grabs her in a choke hold of his own until she becomes limp from unconsciousness.

He surveys the damp carpet, blood, and Leviathan ooze. He grunts as he stands and finds some rope in her pack.

Sock Dean: Awesome. Just great.

Sock Dean ties her arms and legs together, drains the tub and turns on the shower to rinse the bleach off of them.

He carries her back to the bed and finds another link of rope to tie her to the headboard.

Sock Dean retrieves his cell phone from the table.

Sock Dean: C'mon, Sam. Answer! What are you doing?

Sock Dean tosses the phone on the table and pulls off his soaked shirt.

Sock Sam: Are you ready for this?

Sock Cass: Why wouldn't I?

Sock Sam shook his head and led Mr. Woolworth to the baptistery near the middle of the church stage. Three crimson carpeted steps raise the stage above the room. Around the edges of the stage are white pillars, a few sound monitors face the front of the stage and a lone microphone stand stoops off the edge.

Mr. Woolworth: What is this? Phillip?

Pastor Philllip scratched his head and shrugs: Looks like you're getting a second baptism, Stan.

Sock Sam: As I explained before, this is a simple bleach bath. It might be painful because your disease makes your skin so sensitive, but it should help cure your skin condition. Try to stay in the bath for the whole ten minutes.

Sock Cass moves behind the baptistery and pulls up the sleeves of his trenchcoat.

Mr. Woolworth shrugs and pulls off his suit coat. He lays it on the edge of the stage and takes off his shoes and socks.

Pastor Phillip grabs a towel for him to use afterward.

Mr. Woolworth steps into the baptistery and hisses at the water: What did you put in here, acid?

Sock Sam: Just bleach, like I said, it's perfectly safe unless ingested or you're in it too long. Your skin is just sensitive right now.

Mr. Woolworth attempts to lower himself in, but stands upright instead: I really don't think I like this.

Sock Sam glances at the pastor and Cass.

Sock Sam: Please try. Do you want to be blue forever?

Mr. Woolworth: I think I'm lighter already. See? I'm sure it'll clear up in a few more days.

Sock Cass: This is futile arguing.

Sock Cass pushes Mr. Woolworth backward with his hand on his face and submerges the man in the baptistery. Light emanates from Castiel's hand.

Sock Sam: Cass!

Pastor Phillip looks unsettled but glances between the angel and the struggling man.

Sock Sam grabs Castiel's arm: Cass!

Sock Cass: He's fine. Have patience. Eliminating Leviathan threads is harder than it looks.

Mr. Woolworth tries to scream into Castiel's palm. The water becomes still as he sinks for a moment, fully submerged.

Sock Sam: Cass! That's not okay!

Sock Cass plunges his other hand in and pulls Mr. Woolworth up out of the tub. Concern rests on his features as he prepares to heal any injuries the bleach may have caused.

Instantly, Mr. Woolworth shoves Castiel away and stalks out of the baptistery after him.

Sock Cass: You're not cured yet!

Mr. Woolworth: I don't want it. I want to kill you.

Mr. Woolworth pushes Castiel against a pillar and curls his blue hands around the angel's neck. Castiel's sock body slowly rises as Mr. Woolworth shoves him higher off the ground.

Sock Sam tackles Mr. Woolworth from behind and holds him in a chokehold.

Sock Cass tilts his head and disappears from Mr. Woolworth's hands. He reappears at Sock Sam's side and touches the infected man with two fingers.

Mr. Woolworth slumps in Sock Sam's arms.

Pastor Phillip: Stan? Stan?

Sock Sam: He's fine. Just passed out.

Sock Cass rubs his neck, his trenchcoat dribbles soggy water onto the wood stage.

Sock Sam lowers Mr. Woolworth to the floor: Cass, what happened?

Sock Cass: For every Leviathan thread I eliminate, another takes more of the host. I was slow and careful, but I might need to just instantly smite them and hope no threads remain.

Sock Sam: Dean is not going to like this.

Sock Cass: We have no other choice at this point.

Sock Sam: How many of his threads were still human?

Sock Cass: A little less than half.

Sock Sam paces and runs a hand through his hair: He'll be completely threadbare! One wash and he'll fall apart!

Sock Cass: Either that or death. Which would you choose for him?

Sock Sam glances at the blue-tinged man lying on the stage unconscious. Pastor Phillip held the towel in his arms and switched sides as his eyes flicked from Sam to Cass and finally Stan.

Sock Sam: We have to try to save him.

Sock Cass: Lower him into the bleach bath with me, and keep his head up.

Sock Sam drags Mr. Woolworth into the baptistery again. The man is dead weight and sinks instantly.

Sock Cass replaces his hand on the man's forehead: Forgive us.

Sock Cass's hand shines and even unconscious, Mr. Woolworth's mouth drops open in a low groan.

A moment later, Sam and Cass pull him out of the bath again and Sam gestures to Pastor Phillip for the towels.

The towels soon turn blue as they towel dry the man's skin and the pigment wears off onto them.

Sock Sam: He doesn't seem too bad.

Sock Cass didn't meet his eyes: He's deaf now, his left arm is crippled, and he's uh, sterile.

Sock Sam: You can't fix those things?

Sock Cass: Sam, I literally ripped him apart. Those were the things I couldn't fix. The threads are just not there anymore.

Sock Sam: Great. I better get him back across the street so he can get rinsed off and we can do this again. One down, Nineteen to go.

Sock Cass: I'll just be here.

Sock Sam glances back at the angel as he and Pastor Phillip carry Mr. Woolworth back to the station.

Sock Sam: I think I'll grab some handcuffs from Detective Weaver.

A shuffle, then three pounds on the door wakes Sock Dean from his sleep. He squinches at the dark, rubs his eyes, and yawns.

Three more pounds has him reaching for his gun and squinting through the peephole.

His brother and Sock Cass stood outside looking more than a little worse for wear.

Sock Dean opens the door. The light from the outside lamps streams into the motel room.

Sock Sam: Hey.

Sock Sam pushes into the room: What are you wearing?

Sock Dean glances at his bare chest and jeans: My shirt got wet.

Sock Sam: Uh huh.

Sock Sam flicks on the light.

Louisiana lies asleep on the bed, her arms and legs still tied to the bed.

Sock Sam turns to Sock Dean: What is this?

Sock Dean: It's not what it… Look. She...She attacked me.

Sock Cass pushes past Sam and Dean and touches Louisiana's forehead. He shakes his head at Sam.

Sock Sam: Uh, so Cass and I cleaned up the people in Dyersburg. No one's blue there anymore, but there were, uh, side effects.

Sock Dean rubs his eyes: Okay, stop talking and one of you get me some coffee.

Sock Cass disappears and reappears an instant later with a steaming diner-style carafe.

Sock Dean frowns: How…?

Sock Cass: Waffle House. Open twenty-four hours.

Sock Dean mumbles: Why didn't you bring back a stack of pecan chocolate chip pancakes and hash browns, scattered, smothered, and covered while you were there?

Sock Cass: That would not have traveled well.

Sock Dean shuffles to the sink and finds a paper cup for Castiel's coffee. After taking a few sips he rejoins them at the desk.

Sock Dean yawns: Side effects.

Sock Sam: Yeah, so the Leviathan threads are grabbing human threads and completely changing them. The only way we can remove them all is an instant smite, angel radiation, if you will, but it fries everything the Leviathan threads claimed. So it damages them. Most people received minor disabilities, but those exposed longer, like Mr. Woolworth, had multiple.

Sock Dean takes a big gulp of coffee and winces as it goes down: So Louisiana…

Sock Sam: Could lose a lot.

Sock Cass: The only other option is death.

Sock Dean: Or leave her alone. She's usually alone in her travels anyway.

Sock Cass: No. There's a far greater chance she would inadvertently infect another.

Sock Dean: Well I think we should get her opinion, before we doom her to the life of a quadriplegic.

Sock Sam: That is not fair.

Sock Dean: No. It's not. I'm sick and tired of other people making choices for us or manipulating us to whatever they think our fate is. I'm not going to do that for another person.

Sock Sam: No, I mean you, thinking somehow death is better than life, even if it's physically challenging. That's not fair to her or any of them.

Sock Cass: She's deeply progressed. Her life will not be the same.

Sock Dean frowns and crosses his arms: Wake her up.

Sock Cass shook Louisiana's shoulder.

Louisiana moved her head back and forth: What? What is it going on? Dean?

Sock Dean stands up and pushes past Cass to grab her hand.

Sock Dean: I'm here. Sorry about this arrangement. The, uh, Leviathan in you tried to eat me.

Louisiana: Oh. I apologize. Doubtless you'd taste terrible. All heroic, salty, and smelling like you haven't changed your clothes in a month.

Sock Dean tries to grin, but fails: Uh, the thing is, if you go all monster, you'll probably infect others, if we try to get rid of it, it'll probably hurt you really bad.

Louisiana: I can deal with pain. Can't you see?

Sock Dean forced a laugh: Yeah. I know, but this is like permanent damage.

Sock Cass: Mr. Woolworth is now deaf, crippled in one arm, and impotent.

Sock Sam: Uh, but we don't know what sort of side effects it may have on you, Dr. Ferrari.

Louisiana licks her lips: You're all wondering if I'd rather die.

Sock Dean swallows and looks toward the bathroom to hold back his tears.

Louisiana stares pointedly at him: I made a deal. I plan to make good on it.

Sock Sam: So that means...what?

Sock Dean turns away toward the bathroom mirror and purses his lips: She wants to live, no matter the cost.

Sock Sam nods and lays a hand on Sock Dean's shoulder.

Sock Sam and Sock Cass untie Louisiana and then Sam attaches handcuffs to her wrists. They lead her back to the bathroom for another bleach bath. Sock Dean sinks into the chair by the table. He presses his fingers against the bridge of his nose and corners of his eyes.

Sock Sam: Cass, there's no way you could…?

Sock Cass: What is it?

Sock Sam: I just keep thinking there's got to be a way to give what threads she has some stability so she retains most of her limbs and functions.

Louisiana: Like a transplant?

Sock Sam: Yeah, like transplant someone else's threads that they don't need as much to help her.

Sock Cass: I see. It's possible. Do you have family?

Louisiana: My mother resides in Cairo. My sister, Georgia, lives in Dyersburg.

Sock Cass: Stay still for a moment. I will see where most of the damage is.

Sock Cass sets his fingers on Louisiana's cotton forehead again and then nods: Dean is correct. Without any threads to support, you won't walk again.

Louisiana bit her lip: Blasted idiotic greed! I might as well give myself pneumonia or typhoid from drinking the water!

Sock Cass: With your mother and sister's permission, I'll borrow threads to help keep most of your functions normal.

Sock Dean pounds on the door: Hey! What's going on in there?

Sock Sam: Cass has to run an errand!

Sock Dean: Don't forget my pancakes!

Sock Cass disappeared for a few minutes.

Louisiana: Does he always do this?

Sock Sam: Disappear on us? Yeah. We're almost used to it by n-

Sock Cass reappears in front of Sock Sam, a bundle of multicolored threads in his hand.

Louisiana: Is that-?

Sock Cass: No time. Your mother wasn't too thrilled about being disturbed from her sleep. I explained I was an Angel of the Lord and she just fell on her knees. Please, let's get her in the water.

Sock Sam: So did she give you permission or…?

Sock Cass: Well she was pretty out of it. Fear and trembling, you know. I told her I needed something from her and she seemed affable enough. Once I found the threads I needed and pulled them, she might have been kneeling for a different reason, but she has enough for her body to heal and move again. She'll be fine by this time tomorrow.

Sock Sam presses his lips together, but helps Cass move Louisiana into the tub again.

Outside the bathroom door, Sock Dean balls up his fists at the sink and flinches when she cries out from the bleached water.

He punches the mirror until his knuckles turn bloody when he hears her scream and Castiel's glow bathes the floor out from under the door to his right.

Soon the water gurgles and drains away, and the shower turns on again. Sock Sam carries Louisiana out of the room. Her clothes are soaked again, as well as Sam's and Castiel's, but Sock Dean cut his eyes to Cass.

Sock Dean: Well?

Sock Cass: She's lost her sense of smell, even with most of the walking structure threads there, there's still a problem with her hip, so she'll probably have a limp, and she's lost some vision in her right eye.

Louisiana shivers: There. Right as rain.

She slides out of Sam's arms and collapses into Dean's.

Sock Cass trudges past Sock Sam and Louisiana, but reaches for Dean: She's infected you.

Sock Dean: Hey! Don't make me lose my sense of taste Cass! I still want those pancakes!

Sock Cass touches Sock Dean's forehead. A glow emanates from his hand as he smites the Leviathan threads and heals his wounds on his cheek and hands. Sock Cass then turns and cleanses Sock Sam as well.

Sock Cass: No permanent damage. You both were hardly exposed.

Sock Dean: I guess we're finished here.

Sock Cass nods: I will meet you at Bobby's.

Sock Cass disappears in an instant.

Louisiana: I will phone my sister, Georgia tomorrow to ask her to bring me home.

Sock Sam shifts his feet.

Sock Sam: I, uh, am going to go find a change of clothes in the car… and go for a drive. Yup.

Sock Sam shuffles out the door into the night.

A coy smile breaks out on Louisiana's face and she runs her hands over Sock Dean's cotton shoulders.

Louisiana: A change of clothes sounds brilliant.

Sock Dean raises a hand to her jawline: I couldn't agree more.

He lowers his mouth and tastes her lips.

Sock Dean: Good, Cass wasn't lying.

She hums against his lips and he suddenly forgets about everything else.

Sock Dean knocks against the rear passenger window to wake his brother inside. He shakes a brown paper bag.

Sock Dean: Rise and shine, Sammy, It's snack cakes for breakfast, at least until we get to the nearest Waffle House.

Sock Sam yawns and stretches, folding his body back into a sitting position.

Sock Sam waves his hands at his brother from head to toe: You seem especially...bright today.

Sock Dean grabs the keys from Sam's hand: Yeah, I figure we get to Bobby's, zip down to New Mexico and gank a couple demons with Cass and we'll call it a day.

Sock Sam crawls into the passenger seat from the back: And you're good? What about Gabriel, Michael and all that? Are we going to talk about it?

Sock Dean walks around and got into the driver's seat and started the car: Nope. Not right now, anyway. Right now we're going to do the right thing, kill us some monsters. Do what we can do because it's right in front of us. Maybe save a couple socks while we're doing it.

The Sockchester brothers slam the doors of The Cardboard Impala ™. Sock Dean adjusts the volume and blares "Unraveling Riverside Blues" while they peel down the two-lane highway.


	5. Episode 5: Truth or Consequences, NM

The Sockchester Brother's Supernatural

Episode 5

Truth or Consequences, NM

A quiet cardboard Gas N Sip vibrates as five thunderous motorcycles slide to spots beside each pump. The riders disperse, joking with each other as the motors shut off one by one.

A bored employee inside the store stops mid-yawn. He freezes and then jumps the counter to turn his key at the door. He backs away as all nine riders saunter their way over to the store. One attempts to open the door, then once that fails, he takes to tapping at the glass.

The employee darts behind the counter and huddles under the register while faint jeers and wolf whistles permeate through the glass. And that tapping…

The Gas N Sip employee chances a peek at the door. Spidery lines move out from the point of impact, getting larger with each tap.

The taps stops.

The employee frowns: What the -?

A large bald man with glasses and a lined dress shirt appears, standing beside him, facing the door.

The employee double-takes: Darren? What are you doing?

The man glances down: I am not this 'Darren'. I am called Raguel. Don't fear. We will destroy these demons.

The employee gapes: But-

The front door shatters.

Raguel slides a thin blade out of the arm of his dress shirt and holds it at ready.

A man decked in black biker gear and a cut off jean vest materializes beside him. He's got big muscles, and a red tattoo of a snake curled around a stick as big as his face on his bicep: Raguel! My friend! What a surprise!

Raguel growls: N'ushtan!

Then he slams his angel blade against the demon's arm. The slice heals almost as quickly as it appears.

The Gas N Sip employee uses the spare moment to press the panic button under the counter. It blinks red against his face.

The other eight bikers strut over the broken glass. The women toss snacks off their hooks and into their saddlebags. Another biker messes with the flavored ice machine. Brightly colored sludge pours out onto the floor. None seem too interested in Raguel grappling with N'ushtan behind the counter.

One smashes the case for spray paint with his hand, he reaches in and tosses a few cans to the girls.

Finally N'ushtan presses Raguel against the counter, the angel's back bends as if it would break, but the demon breaks Raguel's fingers with his fist to pull the blade out of his hand.

N'ushtan: I have to hand it to you. It is hard to get one of you guys alone. But you, coming in against all nine of us? That was just suicide.

N'ushtan slices Raguel's neck and blue-white grace leaks out. A woman with a flirty smile dumps a bottle of beer on the floor and catches the grace inside it, then rescrews the cap on the bottle.

Raguel moans: The captain of the host will find you and you won't-

N'ushtan pulls him off the counter and kicks the angel's face. Raguel doesn't move again.

N'ushtan: Ah, that's better.

The biker lays a hand against the smokes case above and turns to the Gas N Sip employee.

N'ushtan: Hey Bert, why'd you try to lock us out this time? It's like you don't even know us. C'mon. You know us, Ash, Makah, Bull, and the rest.

He points to himself as he grabs a pack of cigarettes: N'ushtan. But you knew that.

Bert: Well, I-I just, uh.

N'ushtan: What's wrong, Bert? Tongue-tied? You know, I've got just the solution for that.

A couple of the others pause in their pillaging to chuckle.

N'ushtan pauses as he sees the blinking light reflected in Bert's pupils.

He tsks with his tongue: Hmm. A silent alarm? Aww, Bert, Bert, Bert...You really shouldn't have.

N'ustan raises a deeply serrated blade he seems to pull from mid-air.

Bert's eyes widen and he screams.

Five minutes later, N'ushtan finishes filling his tank with gas. He slings the limp angel across the back of the cycle. The rest of the gang rumbles on, but N'ushtan lights a cigarette. He takes a long draw on it and then tosses it at an intentional puddle of gasoline he left.

The gasoline ignites, and creeps its fire toward the tanks.

N'ushtan kicks his motorcycle into gear and roars toward the town square. A hot explosion warms his back and the clatter of torn sheet metal landing across concrete shivers his back in ecstasy.

The other bikers already circle the courthouse square. The woman named Ash holds a large wooden railway gate pole over her shoulder like a lance. Bull pulls the motorcycle up an embankment near the courthouse's flagpole, and Ash hops off in her nimble way. She chants a few ancient words and a hole opens in the grassy spot in front of the flagpole.

N'ushtan rides his cycle up the embankment to meet her. He parks his motorcycle and tosses Raguel down into the darkened hole. He stares into the pitch black for a moment before stepping back and eyeing Ash's sleek form.

Ash plants her pole deep into the formed hole, piercing the angel. A blast of light shines up from below and all the demons lift a hand to shield their eyes. The ground returns together around the planted railway gate pole. Ash jumps onto the back of Bull's motorcycle. They share a sloppy kiss, and the other members circle around the pole, tearing ruts into the manicured courtyard lawn of the town square. The women shake their cans of red spray paint and coat the pole. N'ushtan joins them.

Makah tosses a black can into his hand as he steps toward the pole. N'ushtan begins drawing a nude woman and seven sigils above and below her. He steps back to admire the dripping art.

N'ushtan: Well?

Ash winks and runs a hand through her red yarn hair as Bull wheels by: Looks just like me, N'ush!

Bull cuts his eyes at N'ushtan, but his relaxed demeanor shows indifference.

Makah raises her capped beer bottle. The blue grace glows fiercely against the dark. She draws a knife from her belt and slices her palm. Then she twists off the cap to the bottle and drips her blood into it. Her wound closes and heals fast as she passes the knife to another one of the company.

One by one, each demon drips their blood into the bottle, Makah swirls it around. The grace's clear blue shows up now as a dim murky purple.

She turns to N'ushtan who shakes his spray can again.

N'ushtan sprays four sigils at the base of the pole, one each direction: Death.

The other eight chant: Death!

Makah sprinkles the grace and blood mixture on the pole.

N'ushtan: Death to any who touch this shrine to Ashtoreth!

The other demons chant: Death!

Makah splashes the base of the pole again.

N'ushtan grabs a length of rope from the side of his motorcycle and winds a lasso in his right hand. He tosses it around the top of the pole, then cinches it. The bottom section he knots into a noose to hang just above head level.

Makah sprinkles the remainder of the grace and blood over the rope

N'ushtan: Asherah claims all souls here bound.

Ash's face twists into a grin and she leaps to her feet, balancing against Bull's shoulders while he wheels around: Aww, thanks guys. You shouldn't have!

N'ushtan climbs back onto his bike: It's your lucky day, baby.

They hoot and holler and shake their fists at the skies. All nine ride the main road through town back and forth innumerable times, then finally head out to their cave just outside of town.

Title Credit: The Sockchester Brothers' Socknatural

Sock Sam: Cass? You seem pretty quiet back there. You want to fill us in on where we'll find these original demons in Truth or Consequences?

Sock Dean raises a finger from the steering wheel: Weirdest name for a town I've ever heard.

Sock Cass: I'm not able to know ex -

Sock Cass pauses when he sees a glimmer shining off the edge of one of the distant gray hills. It looks like some tumbleweeds or scrub is burning, but there is no smoke rising.

Sock Sam squints: Is that bush on fire?

Sock Cass sits forward: That's for me. I will meet you at the Big Foot in Elephant Butte.

Sock Dean: The what?

Sock Cass disappears from the backseat of The Cardboard Impala ™.

Sock Dean: I think we need to handle this problem and get out of here fast. I don't feel good about this place, Sammy.

Sock Sam: Well, it's the kind of demons who have to be stabbed a lot before they die. Not likely a milk run.

Sock Dean: Yeah, and did you notice how Cass has been sort of vague on the details here. All we know is it's an original demon problem. No clue on how many, or what they've been up to.

Sock Sam lifts his Ipad: Well, that's why I've been doing research. So get this. There's a sort of hanging tree set up in the center of town that has residents scared out of their wits. The town mayor claims she's seen the noose grab people going by it and hang them until they're dead. There's been three deaths already. The courthouse custodian, the mayor's husband, and a police deputy. They've blocked it off, but people are scared, man. It seems like anybody who gets close to it gets strung up.

Sock Dean: So what do you think? That sounds like a ghost rather than demons.

Sock Sam: If this was a usual case I'd say the same, but Cass said demons and here we are.

Sock Dean turns The Cardboard Impala ™ toward the town square and parks in front of the tan adobe-style courthouse. Few people pass on the streets. Those that do, keep one eye on the area before the flagpole and hurry on to their business.

Sock Dean: This place seem a little dead to you?

Sock Sam makes sure his gun is tucked in his jeans under his shirt and climbs out of the car. He surveys the area and finally spots the yellow crime scene tape fluttering like wounded butterfly wings.

Sock Sam: Yeah. Hey, do you smell that?

Sock Dean frowns at his brother: What?

Sock Sam swallows hard to keep his mouth from watering: Uh, nothing, must be sulphur, right?

Sock Dean dips his chin and rolls his eyes: That would make sense if it's demons, genius.

As Sock Sam and Sock Dean approach, the black sigils marked into the grass like a brand become clearer. Then they see the entire pole and noose hanging from it.

Sock Sam points over the crime scene tape: Woah. Are those burnt angel wings?

Sock Dean follows Sock Sam's felt finger to the base of the red pole. The scorched shape of dark feathered wings encircle and rise, twisting around the base until the final wingtips reach in a futile gesture toward Heaven.

Sock Dean gestures to the body of the pole: I was distracted by the uh, busty beauty there. Who knew demons know how to draw, huh?

Sock Sam nods at the purple-black speckles all over the base of the pole, noose and surrounding area.

Sock Sam: Looks like some heavy duty spells were done here. Check out those sigils on the pole too.

Sock Dean shakes his head and backs away: I don't like it. A possessed pole with a freaking angel pinned under it gives me the creeps.

Sock Sam balls up his fists and glances around the square: Look, I need a drink, I don't feel very well this close to all...that, right now.

Sock Sam's eyes dart at the purple splotches and then to Sock Dean for an appeal.

Sock Dean slaps Sock Sam's arm: Sure, maybe we can find some people in town or Cass can clue us in.

They hustle toward a weathered sign that says Hanes Bar & Grill. Neon beer logos hang lit in the windows, despite the early evening sun still illuminating the storefront. Sock Dean pushes the squealing saloon doors open and holds them a moment more for Sock Sam to duck in.

Sock Dean: Well, here they are.

The bar is bustling with after work activity. Two men wearing dress shirts with their ties tossed over the side of a chair discussed the damage done to a railroad crossing gate while sipping from foam-speckled glass mugs and shooting pool. Behind them sits an old jukebox cranking out a few hit songs from the 60's.

Three people sit at the barstools. An old man stares at them under the brim of his hat from the bar, the other two are engrossed in their phones. In the center of the bar is a gigantic floor to ceiling fish tank.

Sock Sam cannot resist the pull and presses his face against the glass. His eyes dart from fish to fish.

Sock Sam: Look Dean! It's full of sea monkeys!

Sock Dean: All I see is the need for extra tartar sauce.

Sock Sam chuckles and slaps his brother's leather jacket: Looks like there's a spot at the bar.

They settle onto wobbly stools. The bartender sets a round in front of them and nods with his broken nose.

Bartender: First one is on the house. You two look new to these parts. My name's Harry Hanes, I own this place.

Sock Dean tosses back his drink: Just admiring your sock monkeys over there.

Sock Sam: Sea monkeys.

Sock Dean: Yeah, whatever. They don't look like a sea monkey family to me. Where's the sea monkey wife and the pot roast and the sea monkey kids and dog and sea monkey castle?

Sock Sam: Dean!

Harry: Ha, yeah. The tank usually gets a good look. Only place around for a hundred miles with a thousand gallon fish tank though. I should probably get some more exotic fish, or sockeye salmon or something, but they'll eat all the sea monkeys.

Sock Dean: Right, well. I'll take whiskey. You can go ahead and leave the bottle.

Harry raises his eyebrows, but Sock Dean produces a bill with a large enough number on the corner to put the easy smile back on the bartender's rough face.

The older man beside Sock Sam turns to them and sets his sharp western hat on the bar beside him: So I take it you boys ain't from around here.

Sock Sam: Nope.

The man nods: Well, before you get too comfortable, you ought to know our town law.

Sock Dean: Law?

The man sighs: Yep. Just started a few weeks ago. Truth or Consequences.

Sock Dean: That's the name of this town.

Old man: Yep, that's right. Now it's the name of the game too and honesty is the best policy.

Sock Sam scratches his head: So, what? You tell the truth, or there's consequences?

Old man: There's a hanging is what there is. You've seen our new flagpole?

Sock Dean: The one with the naked chick on it?

The old man laughs: That's the one. It just showed up one night when that gang came to town just riding their motorbikes and scaring everybody. Didn't do nothing but the moment Paul the custodian tried to pull it out, the noose came alive and right killed him.

Sock Sam: Because he touched it?

Old man: Because he's a two-bit liar is more like.

Sock Dean: Do the streetlights flicker around it?

Old man: More like combust. But that's not the end of it. Couple of days back, Mayor Thompson says from now on, we better speak the truth, because the pole will know. Next day her husband walks out of the general store, two doors over, and somehow that noose grabbed him, dragged him all the way to the pole and hung him dead. Day after that Janice Heeler, she's one of the police deputies, was cutting him down to bury him and next thing you know she was grabbed. Now nobody knows who's gonna be next.

Sock Sam and Sock Dean exchange glances.

Old man: Long story short, watch what you say. And get out of town just as soon as you can.

Sock Sam: Thanks for the heads up.

Old man: I just don't wanna see no more boys strung up on it. Ain't fair if you don't know the rules. By the way, the name's Silas Woolsey.

Sock Dean shakes Silas's hand: I like your hat, Silas. I'm Dean, that's my brother Sam. You got any info on that gang of bikers?

Silas: Well, I reckon they reek of sweat, sex, and sulphur, if you're asking. Come in from the west every couple days and loiter around the pole for a while, then they take off, probably to one of the old tapping caves. It was carved out back in the gold rush days.

Sock Sam: Really? What are they doing there?

Silas: Don't right know. Sometimes they take a local boy or girl with 'em. Don't ever see them again either.

Sock Dean: Wait, you think they're killing them too?

Silas shakes his head and sips on his scotch: I hope to God not. We're terrified of that rope as it is. I reckon that'd be the last straw. I have half a mind to take my horses and get out of town anyway.

A low rumble shakes the walls and vibrates the glass bottles behind the bar as motorcycles draw closer to the town square.

Silas grabs his hat and sets it on his head, then buries his neck into his coat.

Sock Dean: I take it that's them now.

Sock Sam stands and peers through the dusty paned window, resting his arm on the edge of the sill. The men at the pool table let the backdoor slam shut as they leave, the rest of the bar patrons hunker down in their seats like Silas and dart their eyes everywhere.

The jukebox turns its disk to the opening bars of its next hit; Born to be Piled.

The swinging doors are still for six long moments then they slam apart. Two splinters from the latch hang loose beside the frame as the nine bikers enter the bar. Most of them wear cutoff jean vests emblazoned with skull faced cards. A few women in the group hang off of one or two of the guys, but their hungry eyes spot each available victim in the bar.

The one with the snake entwined around his right arm takes a deep breath and fans himself.

He says: Mmm... That juicy fear is succulent in here. Can you taste it Ash?

Ash peels herself from her man and licks her lips: Absolutely. Oh! Check it out, look! It's our lucky day! Isn't that Azazel's champion?

Sock Sam backs up against the window: Look, we don't want any trouble.

Ash grins as she steps up and into Sam's space, toying with the top edge of Sock Sam's shirt.

She says: Oh, but we do. What do you think, Bull?

She scans Sock Sam from toes to head: You wanna trade...up?

The largest guy, built like an animal, takes a menacing step towards Sam.

Sock Sam swats her hands away but reveals his tattoo: Get away from me. You can't take me.

Ash cackles touching her finger to her lips as she bends over in laughter: Ah, he's cute. Thinks some tattoo can keep us from messing with him.

Ash lifts her head and rubs her thumb against the edge of her fingers. There is no noticeable difference, but when she swipes at his chest, the ink smears right off into her fingers.

Ash: Oops!

Sock Dean stands up: Hey! Pull your paws away from him!

Silas cowers deeper into his beaten leather coat.

Ash twists around and taps an inky finger to her bottom lip: Aww! Look N'ush! Your favorite Sockchester! Two for one deal today!

N'ushtan squints and gives a mock bow to Sock Dean. He flexes his arm and his snake tattoo writhes around.

N'ushtan: It is my utter pleasure to meet such a legendary human, uh, as it is said, toe to toe.

Sock Dean slides his hand into his jacket to rest on the angel blade inside: Well, I really can't say the same about you, snake eyes.

N'ushtan winks at Dean and flicks his wrist. An amber jar rises from behind the bar and whisks into the demon's hand: I love it when you get all sassy.

He pours Dean a drink and chugs the rest like cool water on a hot day.

N'ushtan spins his hand: You may, of course, bow and adore me. I wouldn't pass up allowing you the chance to be a vessel of adoration.

Sock Dean's eyebrows knit as he glares into his glass: I think I'd rather eat a cow pie.

N'ushtan: That can be arranged, you know, puppet.

Sock Dean tightens his grip around the glass. Sammy and him are in deep detergent this time.

Ash pulls off a glove: You know, there's something I've always wondered about you, Sam. Let's see if the rumors are true.

She scratches her hand and red fuzz beads at the surface of her skin.

Ash moves her bloody, inky hand around, her eyes never leaving Sock Sam's face. Her lips curl with amusement: Look! This is great! Like a moth to flame…. He can't help it.

Sock Dean hurls his glass at Ash's head: Leave him alone!

N'ushtan cuts his eyes back to Dean: Bad dog!

With a single motion, the demon sweeps Sock Dean over the bar and against a wall of glass bottles. Like icicles in winter, the bottles shatter into deadly shards and specks. A glass mosaic wrought of drowned dreams.

Sock Sam: Dean!

Sock Dean drops to his hands and knees. Glass slivers stick to his felt palms.

Sock Sam brushes Ash away from him and moves toward his brother. He socks the one she called Bull, but shakes his hand as all feeling is lost in his fingers from the blow.

Bull responds by slamming him into the fish tank. It shatters.

Sock Sam sits stunned in the center of the aquarium frame, hands settling behind him, the only thing holding him upright. A few sea sock monkeys wriggle around against the jagged shards and bloody red fuzz is dripping from somewhere on him.

Ash sashays back to Sock Sam: Ah! Ah! Ah! We're only getting started on you, handsome.

Sock Dean leaps from behind the bar, using his momentum to kick at N'ushtan's face. The startled demon simply turns his face, but Dean is already on the warpath to get to his brother.

Sock Dean draws the angel blade and slices at the throats of two demons and finally plants the blade through Ash's back into her heart.

Ash turns toward Sock Dean and gives him a once over: Oh, I do love when you're angry.

Sock Dean makes a motion toward grabbing the angel blade, but pulls his fingers back at Ash's placid face.

Sock Dean: Well, uh…

Ash winks: Dean, sweetie, do a favor for me, and eat some dirt.

A force slams Sock Dean through the side of the bar window, a neon SOL beer sign and the fragments of the glass window sail with him until he slides onto the gravel parking lot outside. He peels his face from the ground and watches them pile out of the bar and saunter back toward the town square. They drag a large limp figure behind them.

Sock Dean: Sam!

He attempts to rise on his elbows, but the lacerations hurt like nothing else. He winces and grits his teeth through a curse.

The demons sling Sam across the back of one of the motorcycles, behind one of them, it was too hard for Sock Dean to see which one. The rumbles awoke the town again, and Sock Dean staggers to his feet, holding his side.

Two younger-looking demons of the bunch, flip open switchblades and start toward The Cardboard Impala ™.

Sock Dean: Uh uh. No! No! No way!

The sound of hissing air confirms his fears.

He attempts to put one foot in front of the other, but just about kisses the gravel again. The old grizzled hand of Silas holds him upright.

The biker gang thunders off to the west, bearing his brother with them.

Sock Dean: I'm gonna murder them! They've got Sam!

Silas: Not in your shape, you ain't! You need a doctor, boy.

Sock Dean glares at his flat tires: I just need to get to Cass. In the Big Foot. In Jumbo's Caboose.

Silas: Uh, oh, Elephant Butte?

Sock Dean: Yeah, whatever, do you have some wheels I can borrow?

Silas: Well, not wheels, exactly…

Sock Dean and Silas trot down the main street in Elephant Butte on a pair of chestnut horses. Dean's lacerated body barely holds on except for vengeance for Sam and Baby, and the pommel he grips between his hands. Sweat sticks to him as the New Mexican sun beats the back of his neck.

Newspapers cover the windows of a downtown two-story building. A portico stretches above the sidewalk to give some shade in the early afternoon hours. An ape cobbled together with paper-mache and bear-fur rises from the top of the portico and bares its hairy chest and arms in a silent scream at the sky.

Sock Dean tries not to imagine the figure looking like his brother, so he points at the statue and chuckles: This it? The Big Foot?

Silas swings down and starts to tie the reins to the closest pillar: Yep. Don't quite see why you want to go here, there's a care center just down the block, they could fix you right up.

Sock Dean: Yeah, well, Cass is an angel, so he'll do all that, and actually be able to help us out with Sammy.

Silas: Uh huh. I think that fall shook a couple lint balls loose up in your noggin. You sure you ain't a little touched in the head?

Sock Dean: Just… come on.

Sock Dean and Silas step into a restaurant that never left the 70's. There's the newspapers covering the windows, plaster molding around the squares in the ceiling, beaten red pleather booths, and business cards are slipped under the clear plexiglass tabletops. Picture frames with sasquatch sightings cover the walls. An uncomfortably humanoid-looking bust of an ape is mounted over the row of booths. Unfortunately the creature looms directly above the angel wearing a beige trenchcoat.

The gaze of Sock Cass is focused entirely on the business cards just under the plexiglass surface.

As Sock Dean nears, the angel straightens and looks around as if remembering where he was.

Sock Dean: You know you can't actually touch them.

Sock Cass attempts to stand but knocks his head on an overhanging light: Hello, Dean. What happened? Where's Sam?

The angel glances at Silas, but slides past, as if expecting the second Winchester to be somehow hiding his large frame behind the old man and the triangular beer banners spanning the front doors.

Sock Dean: Hey, we ran into a few demons, they got Sammy. Silas thinks he knows where they might be hanging out.

Silas: Well, it aint a sure thing. It still might not pan out.

Sock Dean glances at the sasquatch monstrosity above Castiel's head and edges to the open side of the booth: Right, so just patch me up and take us over there. I've got angel blades.

Silas scratches his head and whistles a cuckoo tone.

Sock Cass' eyes pierce Sock Dean: I can't. There's too much at stake here.

Sock Dean: What? What do you mean?

Sock Cass: I can't explain it to you, Dean. The demons, they've blinded the minds of everyone here so they cannot see the truth. There's an area of ensorcellment spanning all of Truth or Consequences and most of Elephant Butte. Dean, you're asking me to walk with you into a lion's den. Even if I heal you, they're going to know I'm here. They'll find us and they outnumber us right now.

Silas glances back and forth: I think both of you are missing a few socks from your laundry load...

Sock Dean: Okay, a straight fight. Bring them on. I feel better about our odds already.

Sock Cass shakes his head and stares at the newsprint: I know it's difficult to understand, but handling one Original Demon was beyond our ability and you want to invite all nine here, where they already have an advantage. We can't. It's suicide.

Sock Dean: Cass, you know I'm not going to walk away. They took Sam and they messed with Baby. If you can't help, I'll go get him by myself.

He rises from the table, but Sock Cass puts his hand on Dean's shoulder: I won't let you do that alone, Dean. We can't take them all, but perhaps we can tempt them out one by one.

Sock Dean narrows his button eyes: With what?

Sock Cass gazes at Silas: Bait.

Sock Sam wakes slowly, his lips feel sticky, like when he was young and fell asleep while eating mac and cheese, trying to keep awake and hear the familiar growl of Dad's Cardboard Impala returning to the motel room. He tries to lick them. Pie filling? Some kind of rusty water? No. Sock Sam realizes it tastes like blood and freezes. Sam wipes his face against his sleeve. Red fuzz coats the lower half of his sleeve.

Sock Sam stumbles to his feet and presses his hand against his head. The cuts from the aquarium glass are slowly scabbing together on his cotton fibers. His feet wobble over the darkened broken stones of the cave. Sock Sam reaches before him, as he tries to see obstacles in the dim light. He finally reaches a larger cave with a bright opening to the world just beyond. Blinded by his focus, Sock Sam misses the company of demons whispering, mocking, and cajoling a young youth; their latest victim.

Sock Sam froze, his eyes caught the boy's, whose flick to the door.

N'ushtan: Okay Jordan, tell us when it hurts.

The demon slides an angel blade with a bent edge into the teen's side. The boy grunts, but nothing more escapes his lips.

Sock Sam: Hey! Get away from him!

The demons turn as one.

Ash: He awakens! How are you feeling, Sam? Hungry?

Sock Sam backs toward the door, but the demons only watch.

N'ushtan turns the blade in the teen's side.

The boy stares at Sam. His eyes are intense and resolute. He still makes no sound.

Sock Sam clenches his fists, he couldn't just leave this kid to these demons, but drawing them away, isn't seeming to work either. None of them seem concerned that he can walk out. As if they knew he'll always come crawling back.

Ash raises her eyebrow and leans down to a pitcher. In the dim light, the liquid inside looked thick.

She shakes it a little: Time for your next dosage, Sammy, Doctor's orders.

Sock Sam backs up some more: What did you give me?

Ash sticks her pinky finger in the pitcher and sucks it: One hundred percent grade A demon blood. The real stuff, none of that concentrated crap that's all watered down with Lucy's monkey soul business.

Sock Sam: Demon blood? You gave me demon blood?

Ash shrugs: I mean, you sucked down a gallon of it, no problem. I think your body kinda craves it. Not that I care. The nine of us don't mind sharing a pint with you every couple hours.

Sock Sam sneaks a glance at the boy. He flicks his eyes to the mouth of the cave again. His eyes still shone clear, not even a hint of pity or disgust settle into them.

Ash follows Sam's eyes: Ah. I see. He's got feelings for the kiddo. Can't leave with 'em, Can't leave without 'em. Am I right?

N'ushtan yanks the crooked angel blade out and ran the tip of the blade up the kid's arm drawing a thin line of blood from armpit to palm.

N'ushtan chuckles: Tell us again, Jordan. How long am I going to take to kill you? Your choice. Get yapping.

Sock Sam starts back to the demons. He heads for the boy, but the demons just part and let him walk through.

Jordan wears a red tracksuit with white lines down the sides. His white-blonde hair sticks to his thin body. A thin sheen of sweat betrays his body's distress. His lips are still silent, but his eyebrows furrow at Sam.

Sock Sam: Why doesn't he speak?

N'ushtan turns the crooked angel blade to Sam: Not sure. Why don't you see if you can get him to spill?

Sock Sam: No!

N'ushtan: Ah, pity. Oh well.

Sock Sam: Wait! Let him go!

The nine demons cackle at this statement.

Jordan's lips quirk as if he forgot himself momentarily.

Ash sashays back to Sam: How about a deal, then, Sammy-boy?

Sock Sam turns and sets his hand on Jordan's arm: No. I don't do demon deals.

Ash dismisses his words with a wave of her hand: Oh no, just a simple act, not your soul. You drink the rest of this pitcher, and we'll let Jordan and you walk out of here, no questions asked.

Sock Sam shakes his head: No way. I am -never- drinking that stuff again.

Ash shrugs her shoulders: I mean… you already have… so? You're damaged goods, Sam, why not embrace it? You've got some real power flowing through your veins again. You could take your buddy Crowley's job. King of Hell Sam Winchester. You'd like that, wouldn't you?

Sock Sam: Yeah, is that so? So what's to keep me from toasting all of you?

Ash pasted a smile on her face: Ah, well, our kind of demon blood is, uh, more explosive, I suppose. You use it, you lose it all in one shot. So you might get one of us. But…if you drink some more you might get a double kill. So there's that.

Sock Sam glances at the kid: Fine.

Jordan grasps his arm with his little fingers, his voice was thin like his vocal chords were still in the midst of changing: Don't. Just go.

Sock Sam tries not to look at the pitcher, nor the eager faces around him. Especially not at Jordan who would probably look disappointed.

As the slick red fuzz slides down his throat he tries not to relish the taste, the blast of euphoric power that buzzes up and down his fingers and toes. As he finishes he fails to keep his tongue from licking his lips, but throws the plastic pitcher at Ash's feet.

Sock Sam: There.

N'ushtan slivers his eyes, but releases the boy as promised, and pushes him at Sock Sam.

Sam gathers Jordan over his shoulder and stomps out the mouth of the cave.

Ash's voice echoes in sing-song behind him: See you later.

Outside the cave, five motorcycles are parked under the cliff face, sage bush and tumbleweeds are tangled beside and the only path Sock Sam can see is the impression of the tires between brush, boulders, and joshua trees. He sets Jordan on the back of a motorcycle, turns the key and nearly kills the engine. He starts it again and manages to keep it going. Jordan loosely holds on around Sam's middle. Then Sock Sam sets off under the midday sun, wobbling a bit, and then clinging to the handlebars in a deathgrip.

Sock Dean glares across the town square at the angel perching in the bell tower of the courthouse. He straightens the new hat he bought from a souvenir store down the block on his head. He likes the way the brim shades his eyes. A regular Wyatt Earp in an outlaw-run town.

The cuts on his hands and legs hurt, and his body still feel pretty beat, but he pushes past the pain to get through. For Sammy.

He turns back to wave Silas on toward the courthouse as he steps off the boardwalk and hurries to the trunk of The Cardboard Impala ™.

Sock Dean mutters: I have a bad feeling about this.

Sock Dean opens the trunk and props up the weapons box with his shotgun. He replaces his spare angel blade inside his jacket, tucks his gun with a clip of angel-killing bullets into the back of his jeans, and hooks a jug of holy oil to his belt. Sock Dean steps back, mulling over the rest of the items he and Sam picked up throughout the years.

He pulls the never-used crucifix from the lid of the box, and, after hefting it in his hand for a moment, stuffs it in his jeans pocket. Then he grabs a machete and closes the lid.

After closing the trunk and pocketing his keys, Sock Dean returns to the boardwalk. Each step on a board results in a thump three times as loud as his normal step. He lowers his hat over his eyes and slows to a stop near the sheriff's office. Then he rests his back against the shaded wooden wall.

Sock Dean glances again between Sock Cass and Silas who is now well into his first silent circuit around the pole, passing a ram's horn that Cass brought him from somewhere in the middle east between his hands.

Sock Cass stands at the railing, squinting at the horizon.

By Silas's sixth circuit, Sock Dean flinches at any sound. The bang of the saloon door. The whip of the flagpoles in the breeze above. Even Castiel's silent vigil makes him want to tap his foot and pace the boardwalk again, no matter who heard him.

Dean is about to start just that, when Silas starts blowing the horn. At the same time Castiel points to the west. Sock Dean can just see a plume of dust rising behind a throaty motorcycle. Dean slides his machete-wielding hand behind his leg and lowers his hat again.

The motorcycle shakes the town's window panes, making the beams and frames buzz with its power. It finally rumbles to a jerky stop behind The Cardboard Impala ™.

Sock Dean swipes the brim of his hat up and starts back the way he came, plans swept aside, and firmly in their place lay vengeance.

Silas himself startles and freezes in his cycle around the pole when he sees the figure swing off the seat of the motorcycle.

The sound of wings arrive first

Sock Cass: Sam! How are you free?

Sock Dean gapes at his brother before blinking and slapping his back with a hug: I thought I'd lost you, man.

Sock Sam shakes his head: I really don't know. They just let me and the kid go.

The teen turns his head at Sam as if to speak up but Cass interrupts.

Sock Cass tilts his head and gives a puzzled look to Sam: That's highly irregular for them.

Sock Dean turns to the teen who slid off the back of the motorcycle: Kid? Is this your home? Where are your parents?

Jordan clears his throat: This is not my home.

Then he walks with measured steps to the angel: Castiel. Why is that man still circling the Asherah pole?

Sock Dean and Sock Sam trade looks.

Sock Dean: Wait. He knows you?

Sock Sam: Is he an angel?

Sock Cass flies to Silas and leads him back to the group. The old man is shaking. Sock Cass takes the horn from his hand.

Silas: It hasn't gotten me? It didn't get me?

Jordan lays a hand on Silas's shoulder: Don't be afraid. Courage. Strength.

Silas seems to visibly settle and find some measure of peace.

Sock Cass nods at the boy: Jordan is the captain of the Lord's army.

Sock Dean starts. He raises his eyebrows, and takes a step back: I thought that was Michael?

Sock Cass shakes his head: Greater.

Sock Dean grips his machete and steps toward Jordan: Okay. So whose side are you on? Free will or angelic hijacking and apocalypse now?

Sock Sam: Dude, I saved him from those demons. I'm just saying, maybe don't give him the third degree, yet. He could help us.

The boy pierces Sock Dean with his clear, intent eyes as if daring him to come closer. Before Sock Dean can blink the hilt of a golden angel blade as long as a sword rests in Jordan's fingers.

Jordan: I am on neither side. But I have now come and am willing to help.

Dean shrugs: Okay. Ready to kill demons. Good enough for me. Could've picked a better vessel though. Who are you, the karate kid?

A smile touches Jordan's face, then he turns to Castiel: We have a problem. Sam willingly drank unclean blood again, and lied about it just now. The Asherah pole will come for him next.

Sock Dean turns: Sammy, you didn't!

Sock Sam peeks at Sock Dean and spreads his hands: Hey, wait a minute. I was saving your life and they'd already given it to me. What was I supposed to do?

Jordan frowns: Perhaps listened to me. I was there to rescue you.

Sock Sam turns his eyes to the ground: I couldn't just leave a kid there to be tortured.

Jordan squares his shoulders: The ends do not justify the means. A blood sacrifice will need to be made in time.

Sock Dean: I think we ought to worry about demons right now.

Silas nods and tips his hat: I reckon you're right about that.

Jordan lifts his head as his white-blonde hair glows in the afternoon light and faces Sock Cass: Stay in the city. Keep watch over Sam. I will return when I can.

The boy disappears and Silas jumps.

Silas: Where'd he go? Where'd he go?

Sock Sam turns Silas back toward the town: He flew away. Now, where can we find a place to hole up until the demons come back for us.

Silas points toward his home.

Sock Dean: Lead the way.

Sock Sam stares at the spoon in his hand and wills it to stop shaking. It does, but tremors still inadvertently wrack his limbs. He scans the puddle of soup outside his bowl and groans.

Sock Dean stands scowling in the wooden doorway to the kitchen in Silas's house. The house is not much more than a dining and sleeping quarters beside a smelly livery stable, but Sock Cass, Sock Sam, and Sock Dean each found spots to settle.

Dean, of course, settles for the kitchen because making food and supplying books the past two days kept Sam inside, away from the cursed pole. Away from any demons. His cuts and aches are subsiding and healing the usual way, with time.

Sock Cass spends the days grooming the horses and responding to their nickers and whinnys with versions of his own. The horses do not appear to be impressed.

Silas spends a good part of his afternoons taking a siesta either on the patio or in his bedroom. He says he only sleeps inside these days since a noose might rope you from anywhere.

Sock Sam tosses the spoon aside and moves the soup from the puddle around it: I'm really not all that hungry.

He picks up his Ipad and stretches. Researching is his outlet. He doesn't have to think about blood while he reads.

Sock Sam finishes another article and lifts his eyes from the lore: I don't get it. Asherah poles were just poles, sometimes trees, sometimes carved. People worshiped at them. Some had prostitutes. There's nothing about this hangman's version.

Sock Cass digs some apples out of the barrel in the kitchen: Raguel's grace mixed with original demon blood has subjected it to move under their power.

Sock Sam: What can break that blood and grace?

Sock Cass takes a bite out of the bottom of the apple and chews on the bottom core: Maybe a weapon that was blessed with the same elements?

Sock Sam stands suddenly: So we need demon blood then?

Sock Dean steps in: No. Nope. Absolutely not.

Sock Cass: Dean's right. That is unnecessary, and such a weapon would be under their subjugation as well. Original Demons are twisted, fallen angels. An angel's blood and grace is adequate for the weapon.

Sock Sam: Okay, so if you already could make a weapon to destroy it with your blood and grace, why haven't you?

Sock Cass: Angel warding. They sprayed Enochian runes on the ground around the pole, I can't go anywhere near it.

Sock Sam: What about throwing a molotov of holy oil at it? Burn it?

Sock Cass shakes his head: Fire won't consume it, but it might weaken it.

Sock Dean paces the small kitchen and dining room: Why do I keep feeling like these demons are three steps ahead of us all the time? Okay. So you need me or Sam to hit the pole and try to not die.

Sock Cass frowns: Sam is marked. The pole will kill him before he gets close enough to use a weapon. And look at him. He's in no condition to wield an angelic weapon.

Sock Sam rubs the sweat out of his button eyes: Great. Thanks. So it's up to you, Dean.

Sock Dean opens up the fridge and looks for a beer: So we just need some of your blood and grace. That shouldn't be too hard, right?

Sock Cass picks up the machete Dean tossed on Silas's kitchen table and examined the blade: You will need a lot of both. It will severely drain me.

Sock Dean shuts the fridge: Wait, wait. How much? Like baby in a trenchcoat drained? Steve the almost-but-not-really-human?

Sock Cass squints at Dean, but doesn't voice his offense: I won't be that bad, but probably worth a squatting jack in a fight.

Sock Sam winces and massages his temples: That's not how it's said.

Sock Dean grabs a glass and a bowl from the cabinet: Alright, better sooner than later so you've got time to recover. We should have done this days ago.

Sock Cass takes the offered glass and wraps both hands around it and bows his head in concentration. Instantly it's brimming with red fuzz.

Sock Cass: Five of these.

Sock Sam stares at Cass's blood as Dean pours it into the bowl. The thick fuzz is nearly hypnotic to him. The power is right there. Cass and Dean are worried about the pole, but they should be concerned with the demons who made it, who could easily make another in the next town. If he just had some more of that blood, he knew he could take out those original demons.

Sock Sam stands and walks past their work into the kitchen. He means to open the cabinet for a glass, because he really needs a drink, but finds himself cutting the palm of his hand with a knife instead. As skillful as writing his own name, Sock Sam swipes his fingers across the countertop.

Four more glasses of angel blood later, Sock Cass sits heavily in Sam's chair at the table.

Sock Dean sets one of his angel blades on the table: Do you want to do the honors, or should I?

Sock Cass takes a deep breath, holds the blade, and nicks himself just below the neck.

Sock Dean grabs the glass and catches his friend's grace in it until Sock Cass puts his hand to his neck and wipes the wound away.

Sock Dean: Okay. Now what?

Sock Cass raises himself on shaky forearms, pours the grace into the blood mixture, and chants Enochian while stirring it with his fingers.

Sock Dean makes a face: Smells like you're washing pennies in toothpaste.

Sock Sam finishes drawing an angel banishing sigil and peers back at Cass and Dean. They'll understand after he kills all nine original demons. Then. Then he'd do what he had to. Get clean in the panic room at Bobby's. Make a blood sacrifice or whatever that angel kid was talking about.

Sock Cass shakes his hands, but the bright purple grace and blood mixture doesn't come off easily.

Sock Cass: Now you smear it all over the blade with your hands since you'll wield it.

Sock Dean rolls up his sleeves, sets his hat on the table, and pulls off his ring: Time to get down and dirty, huh?

Sock Cass grabs a towel and wipes the blood off his hands with it.

Sock Sam slams his bloody hand on the angel banishing sigil.

The towel drops to the floor as Cass is cast out of the room.

Sock Dean yanks his hands out of the bloody mixture: Cass!

He turns around to see Sock Sam. His hand still covered in red fuzz, pressing the sigil on the counter

Sock Dean: Sam! What are you-?

Sock Sam: Don't follow me, Dean!

He runs out the door and starts the motorcycle. It rumbles to a start, scaring the horses away from that side of the field. Sock Sam weaves, wobbles, and finally balances the motorcycle as he tears out of town.

Sock Dean curses and glares at the flighty horses. They would take too long to saddle and follow Sam. He looks down at the brilliant purple angel blood and grace mixture coating his hands, then stomps back to the dining room table.

Sock Dean mumbles: I'm gonna kill him.

The first few bars of Ghost Riders in the Sky emits from Dean's pocket, but he's arm-deep in the angel blood/grace mixture and can't reach it in time. Cass? Maybe Sam? Dean has his doubts and lets it ring the entire tune while he lathers the machete blade with Castiel's blood and grace.

Sock Dean: Okay. Now what?

Moments after using the last drop of fuzz from the bowl, the blade gleams white-blue, temporarily blinding him.

Sock Dean blinks the stars from his eyes and scrunches his face until he can see. The mess of blood and grace is now gone from the weapon, and the machete's blade has a bluish tinge to its steel.

Sock Dean stands back and chuckles to himself: Okay. That's awesome.

He sets the blade down and washes his hands.

He tugs his phone out of his jeans and scans his missed call. Rowena. Weird.

Sock Dean doesn't have time to call back, Sammy is in serious trouble right now.

Sock Dean quickly cleans up Sam's bloody sigil. That much fuzz might make Silas queasy.

It was just in time, as Silas steps out of his bedroom, yawning: Where's everybody gone?

Sock Dean brushes past him as he sheathes the machete blade to his belt: I'm gonna need a horse.

Silas nods: 'Course. You got your pick.

Sock Dean straightens his hat: You got some chaps I can borrow too?

The wind whips past Sock Sam's face, drawing tears out of the corners of his eyes. He knows Cass and Dean will be fine; Cass is usually back in three or four hours after they zap him away. And Dean...well, he'll get around to making it right with him after the demons are dead. Dean always has to be the protector, the one who has to make the sacrifice. Sock Sam couldn't let that happen. Not this time. Not when he can actually kill these demons, or at least take a couple down with him.

Sock Sam bit his cheek. The taste of his own blood didn't quench the thirst that pounds at his temples.

The bike vibrates below him, kicking up a dust cloud in the path he fled from just days earlier. His unsteady movements from inexperience are fading as he recognised the importance of leaning with his turns.

At one point he thinks he feels his phone buzzing in his pocket, but it could have just been the motorcycle.

The cave is exactly as he left it, except for two original demons sitting by the rest of the motorcycles, sharing a light.

Sock Sam doesn't expect he will approach with any stealth as the motorcycle makes its presence known from the moment he was a mile and a half away. So he jerks to a stop out front with the rest of the bikes.

The male demon didn't look up from rolling a new cigarette, the female demon tosses a burnt cigarette and starts lighting another. The demons nonchalant behavior makes Sock Sam's stomach twist like a snake had made its bed there. Perhaps they don't know who he is or what he can do to them.

The one rolling the cigarette finally spoke: Well, well. The prodigal returns. How are you feeling, Sammy?

Sock Sam swings his leg off the bike at the first one's words. He pulls Ruby's knife from his jacket: I'll feel better once you're dead.

He laughs: Did ya hear that, Makah? The wise guy Sockchester thinks he'll kill us.

Makah grins through her clenched cigarette: I'd like to see 'em try, Berith. Just for kicks and giggles, 'course.

Sock Sam clenches the demon-killing knife, and leaps for Berith.

He lands a lethal slash at the neck and plants the knife into its heart. Before he can contain himself, Sam gulps the red fuzz rushing out the side of the demon's neck. The thrill of power shakes his core once again. Sock Sam feels larger, stronger than ever. He kicks Berith back and grabs his spare angel blade to point at Makah.

Makah: Go on then.

Sock Sam lifts his hand toward the demon and pulls from the hungry corners of his mind the power lying dormant in his blood. He channels it and directs it to destroy the demon before him. Blood drips down his nose at the effort.

A snap follows as the power breaks and shatters Sock Sam's focus. He blinks.

Makah raises her eyebrows: All out?

Sock Sam gapes: What? How?

Makah points at herself: No soul to suck out or destroy. Not very wise there, Sammy-boy.

Berith sat up, healing his wounds with a touch of his hand: Probably famished again, though. You want a bite of Makah before we go see Ash and N'ushtan?

Sock Sam shakes his head, but his ears are ringing and his head is pounding far worse than before. The demons hum a jovial tune as they drag him back into the cave.

Ash: You came back! I knew you would!

N'ushtan raises a beer bottle in salute.

Ash takes Sam's hands and swings to the side to see Makah and Berith.

She grins, waving at the red fuzz around his mouth: I see you got a snack.

Sock Sam glares: You lied to me. You said I could kill your kind of demon.

Ash giggles: Uh, first off. Demon. When we lie, we speak our native tongue. Second, sure, but it was fun to watch you try to kill us.

Sock Sam: Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus, omnis satanica potestas…

N'ushtan sits back and starts reciting it with Sam.

Ash: You do realize that won't do anything to us.

Sock Sam presses his hands to his throbbing head and mutters: Yeshua.

Ash: What's that? Did you sneeze?

Across the room, some of the demons gawk with dread lining their faces.

Sock Sam swipes his red fuzz-covered hand across his lips: Yeshua. C'mon! Clear it out!

After a beat, the serious faces the demons quickly break back into smiles.

N'ushtan stands and slaps Sam's back: None of that, now. You're too dirty to call down that kind of power.

Ash grabs Sam's hand: Now, would you like your old room back?

Sock Dean holds on to the reins as the American quarter horse gallops over the wasteland and bush. The machete is poking into his side, and will likely result in a bruise on his thigh, but his brother is foremost in his mind.

He pulls up for a moment to slow the horse: Woah! Woah!

He scans the surrounding area and locks onto the dusty tread of multiple motorcycles in the packed earth. With a kick, he canters the horse to stay on the trail.

Soon the alcove in the cliff face opens and brings Sock Dean a rush of relief. Sammy might still be alive.

The entrance is unguarded, so Sock Dean slides off the horse, dusts off his chaps, and straightens his hat. He steps into the mouth of the cave with the late evening sun beams illuminating his figure behind him.

Ash's eyes light as she moves across the cave to N'ushtan's side: Two for one deal, every time. You're as consistent as a wash cycle, Dean. Don't you think this is getting predictable?

Sock Dean sets his hands on his hips: What have you done with Sam?

Ash and Bull exchange looks: Well now, Sammy went crying to his room. We might have to give him a spanking later.

Sock Dean: Let him go.

N'ushtan gnaws on a stick of jerky as he steps forward: I don't know if you realize it, but your Sockbro has a little issue set in like a stain on him. So I think we'll be keeping him for a bit. It don't hurt to have a Sockchester in your pocket. So, don't you worry! We'll take real good care of him.

Sock Dean: Like a laundry chute you will!

N'ushtan raises an eyebrow: You want to settle this? Fine. High noon. The Asherah pole in Truth or Consequences. Best be telling no lies between now and then.

The demon chuckles and waves his hand. Sock Dean is thrown out of the mouth of the cave and tossed into the tumbleweeds collecting by the bikes. His hat lands a foot behind him.

He spits as he stands up and dusts himself off again. Sock Dean sets his hand on the handle of the machete. Best not to show all his cards, just yet. Instead, he reaches down and slaps his hat against his thigh.

Sock Dean replaces the hat and yells back into the cave: Fine! But if I win the duel, I want your whole posse of demons to clear out of Dodge!

Ash laughs: Silly puppet, we ain't anywhere near Dodge City!

Sock Dean yells: Get outta Dodge!

Sock Sam is delirious. He knows somewhere in his mind that the vision of Jess, frozen on the ceiling, dripping blood into his mouth from the wound on her stomach wasn't real, but he can't keep himself from catching every delicious drop. He tells himself he is just keeping each drop safe until somehow he can get her down and save her, but his mind is still fuzzy on those details.

Suddenly there is Sock Dean, shoving him away. But the blood is still falling and now no one will be there to catch Jess if she falls.

Sock Sam moans softly. Why is Dean taking him away from the blood? He doesn't understand how important it is. He needs it to save Jess. To save them all.

Sock Sam's vision shifts and suddenly it's Mom above him. Perhaps he can save her. He opens his mouth and the coo of a baby comes out.

Sock Sam: Neh! Neh!

He wiggles his arms, and fat little fingers wave at the edge of his sight. He still can keep hold of Mom's blood though. He only has to wiggle up an inch.

The first drop zings through him and he settles. The constant drop on his tongue pacifies him. Peace and euphoria zips up and down his tiny fingers.

Sock Dean is at it again. Scooping little baby Sock Sam in his arms and kidnapping him away from Mom. Sock Sam struggles, but his tiny body is useless. He tries to speak, but the words come out wrong.

Sock Sam: Geh! Geh! Heh!

How could Dean pull him away from them? Didn't he understand what Sam was doing? Dean keeps getting in his way.

Sock Sam blinks away the tears and Jess is now the one trapped on the ceiling again. Maybe this time he can save her. Maybe Dean won't mess things up for him...

Sock Dean is asleep on Silas's worn leather couch when Sock Cass lands with a clatter of pots and pans in the kitchen. Silas pokes a six-shooter out the bedroom door in four seconds flat.

Silas: Oh. It's that there nutty-looking angel.

Sock Dean rubs his face and mumbles: What time is it?

Silas: Hey, Hey Dean, there's something wrong with your friend.

Sock Dean staggers off of the couch. Sock Cass is prone, clinging to the cabinet closest to him to hold his head up. A couple pans litter the ground beside him.

Sock Dean: Cass! What happened? Are you alright? What is that ungodly smell?

Sock Cass swallows: Tuna, I think. I believe I was in a fish market in Korea, they kept calling me a ghost or _gwisin_. The old women in the market threw salt on me.

Sock Dean: Huh. Not bad. C'mon, get up.

Sock Dean helps Sock Cass to a chair. Silas folds his arms and leans on his door frame.

Sock Dean: So I guess that warding really did it in for you without your mojo.

Sock Cass chuckles which quickly becomes a cough. He disappears into the bathroom.

The angel returns a moment later, wiping his mouth.

He winces: I forgot what it is like to be… almost human again.

Sock Dean: Well, at least it wasn't for nothing.

Sock Dean pulls the sharpened machete out of the sheathe and sets it on the table. Its bluish hue is magnified by the moonlight filtering in the single pane windows.

Sock Cass clutches the blade and visibly straightens. He slides his felt fingers across the surface.

Sock Cass: It worked. My grace and blood are living in the blade.

Sock Dean: Good, because we're going to need it to get Sammy back.

Silas shakes his head and walks back into his bedroom mumbling about fiddle-headed folks.

Sock Cass sighs: The demons have Sam again?

Sock Dean stares at the formica countertop where Sam made the angel warding sigil: Yeah. They've got him all drugged up on their blood too. He isn't going to want to make it back to Bobby's panic room to detox. I guess these original demons have real distilled blood or something.

Sock Cass shrugs: In comparison to Lucifer's created demons, I'm sure true fallen angel blood is far more refined.

They sit still for a moment, then Sock Dean taps the machete: That's why I'm going to need this. Tomorrow, at high noon, I'll face N'ushtan in the town square.

Sock Cass's mouth drops open: Dean, that's not wise. N'ushtan was his garrison's tactician. He knows exactly what will make you fail and will use it against you.

Sock Dean takes the blade from Sock Cass: Well, he doesn't know about this.

Sock Cass presses his lips together: Please reconsider. I will return tomorrow.

The angel stands, swaying dangerously, closes his eyes and vanishes.

When Silas helps Sock Dean load all the tack and gear on the brown quarter horse he is using that late morning, he was the first to speak it. Castiel still hasn't returned.

Sock Dean pushes aside his uneasy feeling as he waves to Silas and mounts the horse: Well, I guess it's time we set things right in this town.

Silas nods: Well, you ain't been the most touched in the head folks I've ever met, but I'm betting my silver dollars on you. Don't take any wooden washboards! Godspeed!

Sock Dean canters the horse to the main road and checks the machete. Still no sign of Cass. Fine. His watch informs him it's ten minutes until high noon. He kicks the horse and gallops into downtown Truth or Consequences.

As Sock Dean rides toward the square, he sees a shadow peel off the boardwalk near the bank and step out into the road, blocking his exit. Soon a second demon in the same kind of jean vest follows the first on his tail.

Sock Dean tips his hat to cover the back of his neck. The hairs there are itching uncomfortably.

When he reaches the town square, N'ushtan stands straddling his motorcycle. Sock Sam sits behind him glaring with red-rimmed eyes at Sock Dean.

Sock Dean: Sammy! You okay?

Sock Sam: Sure. No thanks to you. This is a new level of stupid for you, Dean. Go take Cass and get back to Bobby's. I'll handle this.

Sock Dean spreads his arms: Really? You're handling this?

N'ushtan clears his throat: This is all really touching, but I think Dean and I have an understanding to come to, unless you'd like to take care of it, Sam?

Sock Sam swings his leg off the back of the motorcycle and takes a step towards Sock Dean.

Sock Sam: I can handle my brother.

N'ushtan sidles toward the street curb, sits on it, then stretches his legs. The other demons take resting postures to enjoy the show.

Sock Dean: Whoa. Hey. Ease up. Sam? What's come over you?

Sock Sam: You keep holding me back, Dean. That's the problem.

Sock Dean slides off his horse: Okay, I don't know what they've been telling you, but-

Sock Sam steps forward and socks his brother in the jaw.

The original demons all lean forward in their resting states. A few start passing out cigarettes and a lighter.

Sock Sam: They haven't told me anything. You have. All my life you keep shoving me away, and running my life for me. Well, that ends. Now.

Sock Dean holds his forearm in front of his face after wiping some blood from the corner of his lips. He turns back to his brother: Sammy! You're not you right now. They've got you hopped up on demon blood crap and they're manipulating you.

Sock Sam eyes the blood on his fist: Yeah? It's their fault? It's not. This has always been me, Dean. I've felt this way for years, and I've just met these demons a day ago. You're the one who's been manipulating me.

Sock Sam blinks for a moment as if he questions his own logic, but shakes his head again and swings for his brother's stomach.

Sock Dean jumps away from the strike, but Sock Sam's other arm catches his chin in an uppercut.

Sock Dean tastes blood and spits it on the ground while seeing stars: See. Right there. Look, we don't always agree. Most of the time we don't. But get your head on right, Sammy. This isn't about you and me. There's a job here. Remember? Demons - bad? Noose on a pole? Any of that ring a bell?

Sock Sam squints: That's why we're here?

Sock Dean: Yeah man, they're messing with your mind, and I need you Sammy.

A suspicious look crosses through Sock Sam's button eyes.

Sock Sam: You better not be short washing me.

Sock Dean points at the Asherah pole: Can't lie here, C'mon.

Sock Dean wipes his bloody lip and climbs back on the horse, waiting for his brother to get behind him.

The demons rouse from their posts and Sock Dean spots their eyes turning toward the Asherah pole.

Sock Dean: Crap! Sam!

He turns to see the noose snatching Sock Sam and dragging him toward the pole.

Sock Dean kicks the horse and pulls the reins to the right. The horse stutters a step, but circles.

Sock Dean points the horse to the Asherah pole and yells: Hyah!

Sock Sam clings to the rope around his throat as it yanks him across the pavement, over the curb, and along the grassy embankment toward the pole itself.

Sock Dean taps his spurs into the hind of the quarter horse, racing alongside his brother on the ground.

Sock Dean draws the machete as the Asherah pole looms closer with each gallop as a silent executioner. The rope pulling Sock Sam is too far for Sock Dean to reach atop the horse, so he keeps on the course for the pole.

With as much strength he can muster, Sock Dean swings the machete through the pole shattering it into splinters. A shockwave blast recoils through his arms and unseats him from the horse, who canters on fifty more feet. Sock Dean uncurls from rolling and stands slowly.

Sock Dean: Sammy? My arms are numb. Sammy!

Sock Sam lays on the ground on his back, pulling the rope from his neck. The raw marks are purple around his neck.

He coughs and gulps air as he turns to get up on his knees.

Beside them the Asherah pole smokes. The top part connected to the rope is several feet away, it lays decaying like spent embers. The bottom still stands like a tree wiped out in a forest fire. Where the burnt angel wings once were emblazoned is imperceptible from the complete burn from the blast. The grass a yard around the pole is charred to the roots, like a mark of unholy ground.

Sock Sam gasps words between coughs: Yeah. I'm here.

Sock Dean wiggles his arms and fingers until feeling comes back in them.

A slow clap brings both Sockchesters to their feet as they turn toward N'ushtan who slowly prowls toward them. The other demons close in from each side.

Sock Sam: Dean?

N'ushtan: Impressive Sockchesters. Impressive. I gotta say, I wasn't sure you'd be able to save the girl in time, Dean. But that was some brilliant execution.

Sock Dean keeps his eyes on the demon while he reaches for the machete.

Ash prances forward: And be a dear and show us your blade. Just where did you pick that up?

Sock Dean shrugs: It's amazing what you can buy off of Amazon these days.

Sock Sam steps back as he sees the nine original demons surrounding them. He presses back to back with his brother.

Sock Dean passes him a gun: Angel-killing bullets. That's all we got.

Sock Sam points his gun at the demons. They smirk back at him.

Sock Dean raises his machete. On a second thought, he tugs the crucifix out of his jeans pocket and holds it toward the demons. They avert their eyes. A train horn whistles in the distance.

Sock Cass and Jordan appear on either side of them. Sock Cass flicks his angel blade out of the sleeve of his trenchcoat.

Sock Dean: Cass! Are you alright? You're late to the linedance.

Sock Cass: The what?

Sock Sam turns his face back and forth while leveling his gun at the demons that move the most: Still. Nine of them. We're outnumbered and outgunned. Any ideas?

Sock Cass: Don't be afraid. There's more with us than them.

Sock Dean: What?

Sock Cass glances at Jordan and nods toward the Sockchesters: Let them see.

Jordan lifts up his voice with only a small crack: Manifest! Host of Heaven!

Sock Sam notices that now that the demons are shifting and spinning around to face four companies of angels. They appear in the town square surrounding them. Each angel is wearing a different vessel. Some wear PTA moms, IT workers, construction crew vests, nurse scrubs, elderly grandmas in knitted yarn sweaters, college students, cashier in vests. Each angel produces their own angel blade and set resolve in their blazing eyes.

Sock Cass levels his angel blade and gaze at N'ushtan: Flee or die.

Jordan speaks: Do not return to this area again or we will vanquish you.

N'ushtan sneers at them: Just remember if you ever feel low, Sammy, I'm only a prayer away.

He winks and vanishes.

Ash pouts at her ruined pole for a moment, then she and the other demons fly away.

Sock Dean breathes easier and slides the machete back in its sheath.

Jordan's bright eyes scan the area, then he commands: At ease! Fall out!

The angels disperse one by one.

Sock Sam rubs his neck and kicks a piece of the burnt Asherah pole. It flakes into ashes on the toe of his shoe.

Sock Dean: Sam. Are you okay?

Sock Sam nods, flicks the safety back on, and tucks the gun into the small of his back.

Sock Cass looks at the damage to the Asherah pole: Good. The angel warding was burnt with the pole. That's why we could finally come this close and fight with you.

Jordan raises his golden sword-like angel blade with both hands and plants it in the core of the pole. Pure white light shines from each burnt crevice and soon it crumbles, leaving only his sword.

Jordan spoke: Rest now Raguel, our brother and friend.

Sock Cass stands silent. He swallows before he turns back to the Sockchester brothers.

Sock Cass: N'ushtan and his gang won't return unless they want to be slaughtered by Jordan and the host of angels who will come at his command.

Sock Dean rubbed his hands together looking at the four of them: Well, I don't know about the rest of you but I think I'm going to need a drink. Maybe we can find some sarsaparilla for the little guy.

Sock Sam continues itching at his neck: I think I'm going to need tweezers to get all the fibers out. It feels like it's still there, but I'll take you up on that drink.

Sock Dean gestures to Hanes Bar and Grill on the square and sets off that direction.

Sock Sam looks back toward the ashes where Jordan kneels pouring holy oil on a cloth. Jordan uses the cloth to oil his sword and remove leftover soot from the blade.

Sock Cass stands nearby, speaking in lowered tones.

Sock Sam rejoins the angels as Jordan finishes oiling his blade and slides it into an invisible sheath at his hip.

Jordan finishes his conversation as Sock Sam steps forward: I will return.

He nods smartly at Cass, then makes eye contact with Sam. Compassion lit Jordan's eyes this time. Underneath that, a steely determination. Jordan lifts his eyes to the clear blue sky above, and disappears.

Sock Sam itches his neck again: So, is Jordan the angel's new leader then?

Sock Cass squints his eyes and tilts his head: Yes and no. He doesn't demand we follow him. He simply is who he is. He isn't concerned about taking sides. If he calls on Angel Radio, we come because we know him.

Sock Sam frowns: Huh. Uh, Cass. Look, I wanted to ask you. When I was in that cave and tried to kill the demons, it didn't work, so I used that name, Yeshua, and that didn't work either. So what did I do wrong?

Sock Cass glances back at the pile of ashes and rope: He doesn't always work the same way in every instance. Not the way you expect usually.

Sock Sam: So you're saying it did work?

Sock Cass: The demons are gone. Aren't they?

Sock Sam nods: Yeah. Okay. Do you want to get a drink with Dean and me?

Sock Cass shakes his head: Go on. I need to recharge in Heaven for a little while. Pray if you need help.

Sock Sam: Got it.

He makes his way back to the bar which was barely open. Sock Dean has the entire bar to himself, but a bartender walks out of the kitchen carrying a large red tray of freshly washed mugs.

Sock Dean looks up from his whiskey when Sock Sam settles on the stool beside him: So. What are you thirsty for?

Sock Sam turns to look at Sock Dean. His brother is calm. Perhaps too calm for the veiled question he posed.

Sock Sam: Alright, I get it. I'm sorry. I was out of line. Here. Pick a side. You can sock it to me.

Sock Dean: Nope, just call us even. Just don't go running out on us for go-juice again.

He clears his throat: Uh, well. I'm not really thirsty for, uh, that, right now. But I know I will want it again. Soon. So Bobby's panic room. Whatever we gotta do.

Sock Dean shakes his head: I can't do that to you, Sammy. Not again.

Sock Sam accepts the beer the bartender pushes in front of him, and gulps down a mouthful: So what? Twelve step program it? Stick some sort of angel blood patches to get me off it without going cold turkey? When I was drinking blood to kill Lillith, that was like gasoline, this is like motor oil. It's a whole new level of intensity. I can't do it alone.

Sock Dean leans back in the stool: We can fight it. We always do.

A buzzy warble tone breaks through the quiet bar.

Sock Sam draws his cellphone out of his pocket and stares at it.

Sock Dean: What is it?

Sock Sam: I'm not sure. Rowena said she needs us to come to the United Kingdom straight away.

Sock Dean: What? Does this have to do with digging up Crowley's bones? Because I'd rather not do that again.

Sock Sam: She says it's a friend of hers that needs serious help.

Sock Dean: Alright. We'll get Baby a new set of wheels and grab our passports. But, man, can we not fly?

Sock Sam bites his cheek: I'll see if Cass will take us.

Sock Dean tosses a few bills on the counter, downs the last of his drink, and the boys head out together.


End file.
